Emma's Excellent Adventures in London
by Katson
Summary: Yes, it's contrived, but Emma and Mr. Knightley go to London!
1. Mr Woodhouse Receives Deplorable News

Notes: This story explores two aspects of Emma and Mr. Knightley's relationship: First, what was the long-standing affection between them like? Surely, they must enjoy spending time together and Mr. Knightley must do more than scold her, just as Emma must do more than argue with him. (Did anyone besides me wonder, after reading the book, what Mr. Knightley saw in the conceited, spoiled child that Emma proved herself to be (even after she showed compassion for Miss Bates)? Though I admired her spirit, I questioned why he thought her "perfect in spite of her imperfections." At least their affection was more believable in the 2009 "Emma" production.) Second, do others, who aren't Highbury residents long used to seeing Emma and Mr. Knightley together, see their friendship in a different light?

There are a few references from another story, "Sojourn at Donwell" (such as Emma's violin playing). Thank you in advance if you have time to review.

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_Chapter One: Mr. Woodhouse Receives Deplorable News_

If the truth be told, a subtle sense of melancholy had settled over the Woodhouse household after Miss Taylor's departure from Hartfield, several weeks earlier, to become the new Mrs. Weston. Most assuredly, that there was any cause and effect between the two was not anything to which Emma would admit, as she herself was apt to claim credit for making the match between Miss Taylor and Mr. Weston. Nor was it anything to which Mr. Woodhouse was particularly sensitive, as it was his nature to enjoy the quietude at Hartfield. Fortunately, Emma's spirits returned whenever either of her two favorite guests, Mrs. Weston herself and Mr. Knightley, arrived for a visit. On this particular late summer afternoon, the master of Donwell Abbey made his almost daily journey to Hartfield, and Emma's mood was lifted when he suggested a game of backgammon. The two were soon competing keenly while Mr. Woodhouse was engrossed in reading correspondence that had been delivered earlier in the day.

"Oh dear," exclaimed Mr. Woodhouse after reading a certain letter. "This is terrible news. Most deplorable."

"Father, what is it?" Emma was immediately concerned - was something wrong with Isabella or one of the children?

"It is my agent, Mr. Andrews. It seems that he has broken his leg in a fall on the stairwell in his home. Stairs are so dangerous, are they not? One must always be certain to maintain a good grip on the banister. You must always remember to do so, Emma. In any event, Mr. Andrews writes that for at least two or three months he will be unable to make the trip to Highbury for his annual meeting with me. The broken leg is quite serious, and he has been consulting with a surgeon as well as his apothecary. The poor man! I wish him a complete recovery. What dreadful news this is. And what it will do to my business interests will surely be dreadful, as well, as in the meantime, I'm afraid that many of my investments shall have to languish. He was scheduled to be here in less than a fortnight."

"Poor Mr. Andrews! I hope he recovers quickly," said Emma. She was relieved that their family was not implicated in the bad news, and that Mr. Andrews would recuperate. "But surely you can conduct your business by corresponding with him, Father?"

"Oh, no. That is out of the question. These particular matters are always conducted between Mr. Andrews and me in person. You know that he always comes to see me at least once a year."

"I would be happy to meet with your agent in London on your behalf, Mr. Woodhouse, as soon as he is able to receive vistors," Mr. Knightley offered. Emma smiled at him from across the little game table. It was a generous offer on his part, and she appreciated his efforts to accommodate her father.

"That is most kind of you, Mr. Knightley, but it is impossible. I must meet with Mr. Andrews myself. To do otherwise would be incomprehensible to me." Emma knew that her father was nothing if not a creature of habit. How dismayed he must be!

"I understand, Mr. Woodhouse. But do let me know if you change your mind. My offer to assist stands."

###

Mr. Knightley accepted Emma's invitation to stay for supper, during which Mr. Woodhouse several times lamented the misfortune that had befallen his agent and, vicariously, Mr. Woodhouse's investments. "Well, Mr. Woodhouse," said Mr. Knightley, "as your agent is incapacitated at present, perhaps you ought to consider going to London to meet with him in person."

"To London? Me? Travel to London?" Mr. Woodhouse seemed aghast at the mere thought. Mr. Knightley might as well have suggested going to the moon, Emma thought. Her father continued, "I have not ventured there in many years now. Such a journey might be dangerous, especially in my state of health, and one can never be certain that the roads will be safe these days." Emma thought back and realized it was five years ago, when she had just turned sixteen, that she, her father and Miss Taylor had last made the journey to London. The trip was a short one - just three days - and had been made necessary because her father had been brought low by a toothache; Mr. Woodhouse had sought the services of a dentist in London who had been highly recommended by Dr. Perry.

Mr. Knightley responded with prudence, "Well, you might consult with Dr. Perry, to confirm that it would be acceptable for your constitution. And as for any other danger, I would be glad to escort Emma and you, though I would not foresee any hazard or difficulty whatsoever. It would be a trip of but two hours or so with horses as lively as yours, Mr. Woodhouse."

"That is very good of you to offer, Mr. Knightley, but I am sure it is out of the question. Besides, where would we stay? We could not stay with Isabella and John. No, with five children, including a new baby, it would be impossible for a man of my age and situation to find comfort there. Their house is not nearly so large as to make the arrangements feasible. It might be unfortunate for my health or the health of my newest granddaughter."

"Yes, that is a valid concern." Emma was disappointed to hear Mr. Knightley agree with her father on this point. She had almost held her breath at this exchange between the two gentlemen, as she held out hope that her father would be even a little bit open to the idea of a trip to London. The change of scenery might be just what she needed, she thought. She seemed to have been brooding lately, and she simply could not put her finger on the cause. "Why don't you stay with my Aunt Catherine?" Mr. Knightley continued. "I know that she would dearly love to see you and Emma again. She asks after the two of you every time John or I see her. I am quite sure that it would mean a great deal to her to be able to host you at Manning House."

Emma's hopes now returned. Mr. Knightley's aunt, Mrs. Catherine Winthrop, was the only sister of his deceased father. Born Catherine Knightley, she had been raised at Donwell Abbey and had grown up with Mr. Woodhouse, who was five years her junior. She had left Hartfield upon her marriage to Mr. Alistair Winthrop, the heir of a fine estate in Kent. It was a successful and happy match for both, though sadly, they had never been blessed with children. Upon Mr. Winthrop's death a number of years earlier, his entailed estate in Kent was inherited by the oldest son of a cousin. Fortunately, Mr. Winthrop had provided handsomely for his wife upon his death, though the substantial dowry that Miss Catherine Knightley had brought to their marriage would have been more than sufficient to leave her well off in her own right. After her husband's death, Mrs. Winthrop retreated to their London home, Manning House, having lost interest in travelling away from London, even to see her childhood home at Donwell. While she adored company at home and tolerated small dinner parties and intimate gatherings at which she might learn the gossip of the day, she eschewed balls and other large affairs, believing them to be bad for her wellbeing. Some might even say that she had become reclusive, and the sad fact was that where matters of health and constitution were concerned, her views were quite comparable to Mr. Woodhouse's.

"Ah, my dear friend, Mrs. Winthrop! I do hope she is doing well. It has been a long time since I have had the pleasure of seeing her. We do correspond every year at Christmas, and you, Isabella and John provide regular reports, but it is not the same as a real visit. It would be wonderful, indeed, to see Mrs. Winthrop."

"Well, it is a thought, Mr. Woodhouse. Why don't you take it under consideration, and if you believe it would be in the best interests of your business dealings with Mr. Andrews to do so, I would be most happy to make the arrangements with my aunt." Mr. Woodhouse gave an almost imperceptible nod of his head. Although this last exchange of conversation made Emma practically delirious at the prospect of a trip to London, she outwardly maintained her indifference, and to her dismay, neither her father nor Mr. Knightley raised the subject again that evening.

###

After tea, when Mr. Knightley rose to bid them adieu and return to Donwell Abbey, Emma said, in a tone that was as nonchalant as she could muster, "Mr. Knightley, I think I shall walk with you to the gate sweep. It is a warm evening, and I ... I could use a bit of fresh air."

As soon as they had travelled a short way down the garden path, well enough away from the parlor door so that her father could not overhear them, Emma exclaimed, "Mr. Knightley, thank you _so_ much for suggesting that Father and I might go to London! To _London_! We have not been in _five years_! And it would be so wonderful to see your aunt again. She has always been so kind to our family."

"Please do not get your hopes up, Emma. Your father is a long way from approving of the journey. He merely agreed to consider it. I would not wish for you to be disappointed."

"Oh, I know that you are right, Mr. Knightley. But just think … I could meet baby Emma, and spend time with Isabella, and we could take our nephews to the zoological gardens – little Henry has said he that would very much like to go and even _I_ have never been. And do you think we might see the 'Elgin Marbles,' Mr. Knightley? How _marvelous_ that would be! We've read _so_ much about them! Oh, I do hope Father will say yes."

As Mr. Knightley listened to Emma recite her prospects dreamily, he reflected that any other young lady of her age and circumstances, when eying the possibility of a rare visit to London, would be thinking of adding to her wardrobe, attending balls and meeting eligible suitors. But dear Emma was thinking only of such mundane pastimes as being with her family and visiting the zoo and the museum. But then again, he mused, Emma Woodhouse must be unlike any other young lady in all of England.


	2. Gruel for Two and Almack's for Four

Notes and Trivia : Almack's was an exclusive club in London that really did exist for the purpose described. Lord Byron was considered both a gifted poet and a notorious womanizer in Jane Austen's time. (More on Lord Byron (who was also played by JLM in a BBC production) to come in a later chapter…)

As always, thank you in advance if you have time to review.

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_Chapter Two: Gruel for Two and Almack's for Four_

Emma marveled that the impossible had happened. Dr. Perry had not only approved of her father's trip to London, he had practically insisted that it was best to go as soon as Mr. Andrews was able to receive visitors, lest Mr. Woodhouse's heightened worry over his business interests adversely affect his health. Thus, her father had agreed to venture to London, and Mr. Knightley had arranged for the two of them to stay with his aunt, Mrs. Catherine Winthrop, who resided in the elegant neighborhood of Mayfair. Mr. Knightley had also arranged to assuage her father's fears of travelling, even on a journey of only sixteen miles: What if the carriage were to lose a wheel? What if they were to be accosted by highwaymen? Mr. Knightley had travelled with them and had tethered his horse, Bessie, to Mr. Woodhouse's carriage for the journey, so that while in London, the younger man could freely travel between in his aunt's home in Mayfair and his brother's home in Brunswick Square, where Mr. Knightley would be staying.

So the three travelers arrived at Manning House without incident, almost to Mr. Woodhouse's amazement, and were quickly swept into the main parlor where Mrs. Winthrop greeted them warmly.

"Mrs. Winthrop, my old friend, how nice it is to see you again! It has been too long!" exclaimed Mr. Woodhouse.

"Henry Woodhouse, when you call me your 'old' friend, pray tell, are you referring to my age or to the duration of our acquaintance?" Mrs. Winthrop said sternly, then broke out into a big smile and chuckled, and her three guests laughed with her. Emma had forgotten what a wonderful sense of humor Mrs. Winthrop possessed. Then Mrs. Winthrop continued, "How nice it is to see you, as well. And Miss Woodhouse, please do come here and let me look have a look at you. My, what a lovely young woman you have become, as beautiful as your dear mother, God rest her soul. How graceful you are! What an exquisite complexion! And I have always loved hazel eyes!" Emma smiled demurely at this string of compliments and told herself that she was quite certain she was going to enjoy her stay at Manning House very much, indeed. For his part, Mr. Knightley half-feared that if Aunt Catherine continued with such flattering remarks, Emma's vanity would be inflated to an insufferable level, but he held his tongue, and merely smiled and nodded in agreement.

Mr. Knightley then accepted his Aunt Catherine's invitation to stay for an early supper. He felt it was his duty to visit with his aunt for a time, but more important, he must be sure that Mr. Woodhouse was well settled before he left for Brunswick Square. He could tell that Emma and his aunt were going to get along splendidly, but even though Aunt Catherine and Mr. Woodhouse were "old" friends, Emma's father was so secure in the comforts of Hartfield, that Mr. Knightley worried that the change from his usual routine might do him ill.

###

After supper, Emma played from a Haydn concerto on her violin. As always, she was quickly absorbed in her music, but she could not help but notice Mrs. Winthrop nodding her head in time to the notes, her father smiling contentedly, and Mr. Knightley leaning back comfortably in the large wing chair, his hands folded across his chest and his eyes closed, but a satisfied grin on his face. Emma knew that her talent on the violin was her one true accomplishment, as even Mr. Knightley acknowledged on occasion, so while she feigned modesty when Mrs. Winthrop showered her with praise afterwards, privately she basked in the lady's admiration. The four then played an enthusiastic but serious game of whist, until promptly when the clock struck half past eight, Mrs. Winthrop announced it was time for her nightly serving of gruel and abruptly left the game table for her favorite chair in front of the fire. Of course, Mr. Woodhouse was delighted to join her, so he moved to the other chair near the fire. Emma and Mr. Knightley were left facing one another at the table, their cards still in their hands, fighting off astonished laughter. "Well, I guess this means our game of whist is over, Mr. Knightley," Emma whispered with a giggle.

Since the evening had turned unseasonably cool, as the two elders settled in to wait for a servant to bring in their bowls of gruel, Emma placed a fluffed pillow behind Mrs. Winthrop's back, and Mr. Knightley brought her a lap blanket to keep her warm, just as they would next do for Mr. Woodhouse. Mrs. Winthrop reveled in the attentions she was receiving.

"Thank you, Miss Woodhouse and George," said Mrs. Winthrop, with a gleam in her eye, "for going out of your way to take care of bothersome ancients like the two of us."

"Oh no, Mrs. Winthrop! You must not say such things! You are neither bothersome nor ancient. And Mr. Knightley and I do as much for Father practically every day, so it is no trouble at all."

"Do you, now? Well then, Mr. Woodhouse, you are a lucky gentleman, indeed, so have two such lively and able-bodied well-wishers to attend to you."

Just then, a servant arrived with their bowls of the unappetizing, watery repast, and while Mrs. Winthrop and Mr. Woodhouse exchanged commentary over the benefits of gruel on one's health and constitution, Emma and Mr. Knightley exchanged sly looks, each willing the other not to laugh at the contented musings of the two older people. Mr. Knightley then excused himself for the short journey to Brunswick Square, but vowed to return early in the morning so he could escort Mr. Woodhouse to meet with his agent and Emma to Brunswick Square, where she was to spend the day with Isabella and the children.

Emma followed him into the entry and called after him, "Mr. Knightley…" He turned around just as the doorman handed him his hat. "They are two peas in a pod, don't you think?" she giggled, and he laughed and agreed with her. "I just wanted to thank you so much," she continued, "for bringing us here, and for arranging everything. Father and I do appreciate it. Good night and safe journey. I'll see you tomorrow."

"You know that it was my pleasure, dear Emma. Sleep tight. Until tomorrow, then," he said, then placed his top hat on his head and stepped out the door. She could see Bessie, his horse, being held by the groom at the bottom of the steps. Mr. Knightley confidently strode out in the night, as it were, and turned around at the bottom of the steps and tipped his hat to her. Emma smiled contentedly and waved back.

###

After Mr. Knightley had left for Brunswick Square, Mrs. Winthrop said, "Emma, my dear, I am so happy to have you here at Manning House at last. You are as delightful as my nephew George says. He has told me many times that you have grown into a beautiful, charming and accomplished young lady, and I am so glad to see it for myself."

"Mr. Knightley has said that? About _me_?" Emma said, in wide-eyed astonishment.

"Yes, of course. Why do you seem surprised?"

"Well, it is just that … well, it is nice to know that he said as much to you." Mr. Knightley had never been generous with his praise of Emma, and she knew full well that it was because she rarely did anything to deserve it, despite his constant stream of corrections and encouragement. Emma presumed that Mr. Knightley was just being polite to his aunt when he had offered such compliments, but she could not help but be pleased; perhaps he did not think her as indolent as he always led her to believe. And later, as Emma snuggled under the inviting bedcovers in the cozy guest room, she could not help but sigh with happy anticipation at the adventures that might await her in London.

###

Emma's first full day in London was simply perfect. Mr. Knightley, John Knightley and her father ventured to his agent's home and then to the financial district for their various business dealings, while Emma spent a leisurely day with Isabella and the children, among them, Emma's infant niece and namesake, whom she met for the first time that morning. At noon, they ventured across the way to the park at Brunswick Square, where the three boys looked for frogs in the stream and little Bella sat contentedly with her mother and aunt, carefully holding and caring for her doll, exactly mimicking everything her Aunt Emma did for her baby sister. In the afternoon, Isabella, who had not left the house often since the arrival of baby Emma, was delighted to take her sister to her dressmaker's establishment, where the array of fabrics was almost more than Emma could comprehend. "I'll never again be contented with the selection at Ford's!" she said to Isabella with a laugh.

Emma marveled that she had only been in London for one day, and yet there was still so much more to come – between arrangements already made by Isabella and Mrs. Winthrop, she would hardly be bored, and that did not even include the plans that she and Mr. Knightley had made!

###

That evening, Isabella and John hosted an intimate dinner party for eight. The host and hostess were joined by Mr. Woodhouse, Emma, Mrs. Winthrop, Mr. Knightley, and two close friends, Mr. and Mrs. Gordon Preston.

Mr. Preston had been a schoolmate of Mr. Knightley at Oxford, and the two had taken their Grand Tour of the continent together. And when John Knightley had moved to London in furtherance of his career as a solicitor, to be joined later by his bride, Isabella, Mr. and Mrs. Preston had graciously taken the young couple under wing and introduced them to London's society and amusements. Mr. Preston was a tall and fine-featured gentleman with an outgoing personality, though he was not as handsome as Mr. Knightley, in Emma's biased view. Emma had met Mr. Preston twice before: once, when she was a very little girl, just before the two gentlemen had taken their Grand Tour, and the second time, shortly after he and Mrs. Preston had married, when they had come to Donwell for a brief visit. Mrs. Preston was petit and elegant, and despite being rather soft-spoken, she seemed to have no trouble voicing her opinions to her husband. Emma liked her very much.

After supper, when the guests were having their tea, Mrs. Preston spoke to Emma. "Miss Woodhouse, lest it slip my mind, I am happy to advise that I have secured vouchers for four to Almack's on Wednesday evening. Mr. Preston and I were wondering if perhaps you would like to join us? Mr. Knightley might act as your chaperone for the evening. What do you say?"

Almack's Assembly Hall was a well-known and exclusive social club, controlled, as it were, by seven illustrious ladies whose collective place in society was unparalleled. An unofficial purpose of the club was to establish a suitable venue at which young ladies of society and eligible bachelors might become acquainted. Even for those without matrimony in mind (particularly those gentlemen who were merely curious as to which young ladies were "coming out" into society that year), it was an assembly at which one's social standing was confirmed.

"What do I say to a ball at Almack's? Why, that would be marvelous!" gushed Emma. "I say yes, of course!" Then she paused, self-consciously. "That is, if neither Father nor Mr. Knightley has any objections?" She eyed them imploringly, willing each to say he had none.

Mr. Woodhouse responded, "As long as I do not need to venture into such a drafty assemblage myself, I am content that Mr. Knightley would see after you, Emma."

Emma then looked quickly to Mr. Knightley, who was seated next to her on the sofa. He smiled and said, "Well, surprisingly enough, I am not engaged that evening, so I will be your escort, if you wish it so."

"Thank you, Father, and Mr. Knightley. And thank you for your kind invitation, Mr. and Mrs. Preston. I shall very much look forward to it," said Emma enthusiastically.

Isabella then said, "You can wear your new gown, Emma - your birthday gift. And they say that Lord Byron is in London now, and that Lady Jersey has given him an annual voucher to attend the balls at Almack's. Perhaps he will be there."

"Why should Emma care if Lord Byron is there? He is just an over-rated poet," said John Knightley, in a rather temperamental manner.

"Well, because he is a famous and well-regarded author, John," Isabella replied.

"Yes, he is the toast of London these days," said Mrs. Preston, then she added mischievously, "And they say he is _very_ handsome. I can vouch for that, as we saw him at Ascot this year."

"Byron may be a genius when it comes to the verse, but he is known as a scoundrel when it comes to the ladies, so I cannot countenance such commentary from these fine gentlewomen!" laughed Mr. Preston. "What do you think, John, are we at risk here?"

Emma could not hide the smile on her face – this interchange between the ladies and their husbands struck her as quite humorous. Mr. Knightley leaned over to her and whispered, "You seem to be enjoying this discussion regarding the rather infamous Lord Byron, Emma." He must have read her mind, which Emma supposed was not unusual.

As the couples' banter continued, she whispered back, "Well, I think it is rather amusing to see your brother and Mr. Preston react in such a way over a mere poet." She couldn't help but giggle. It did her heart good to see John, who was never demonstrative, reacting rather possessively towards her sister. She was lost in this thought and did not hear the question that Mrs. Preston had put to her; she only heard her ask, "Miss Woodhouse?" at the end.

"I beg your pardon, Mrs. Preston?"

"I asked which of Lord Byron's works is _your_ favorite? I assume you have read at least some of them?"

"Oh, indeed, I have." Emma recited from memory: "'She walks in beauty like the night of cloudless climes and starry skies and all that's best of dark and bright …,' That is his most beautiful poem, I think." In response to the somewhat curious look that Mr. Knightley gave her, she said to him, "Oh, I trust you do not object to my reading Lord Byron's works, Mr. Knightley. _You_ are no romantic, that is clear, and Byron's poems may be a far cry from the classics of which _you_ are so fond, but they _have_ been highly acclaimed."

"You'll get no objections from me, Emma. I should say I am pleased to have you reading _anything_ at all," he said in jest.

"Oh, such cheek! John, your brother gives me no credit! And now the rest of you see the scrutiny I must endure!" Emma spoke good-naturedly, raising up her hands in mock exasperation, and everyone laughed with her.

"I assure you, Miss Woodhouse," said Mr. Preston, "that Mr. Knightley's praise of you when you are _not_ in attendance has been far greater than his scrutiny of you when you _are_." The remark caught Emma by surprise, and she looked down at her lap so her hot cheeks would not give away their blush.

Mr. Knightley cleared his throat. "Ahem, enough talk about Byron. Tell me, how is your son doing, Gordon?"

The subject having been changed, Emma and Mr. Knightley both relaxed, and the conversation continued lightly. Mrs. Winthrop thoroughly enjoyed hearing the various bits of gossip that were offered, but what interested her even more was the regular banter between her nephew and Miss Woodhouse. Yes, it was very interesting, indeed.


	3. Giraffes, Devils & Fantastic Creatures

Notes and Trivia: This is the first of two chapters uploaded on June 1st. Regent's Park and the London Zoo did not open to the public until decades after the time of this story, so I've taken liberty with dates. Ranelagh's (or Ranelagh Gardens) was a fashionable public garden in Chelsea. At the time, it was a place to "see and be seen."

As always, thank you in advance if you have time to review.

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_Chapter 3: Of Giraffes, Devils and Other Fantastic Creatures_

The next day, Mr. Knightley fulfilled his promise to Emma and their two older nephews to take them to the zoological gardens in Regent's Park. Henry and John were having a delightful time at the zoo, running from cage to pen and back again to examine the unusual creatures first hand. It seemed that their Aunt Emma was nearly as wide-eyed as they were, since she, too, had never seen a zebra or an elephant, or any of the zoo's other animal treasurers, except in sketches in the pages of books. When the four visitors came upon the pen housing the zoo's giraffes, Emma studied them for a long time and then said, very seriously, "Mr. Knightley, these giraffes do _not_ have hazel eyes. None of them does."

"Of course they don't. Why would you think …" Mr. Knightley stopped midsentence and stared at her for a moment. He then put his hand to his mouth and turned away from her. He was clearly trying to stifle a laugh, but Emma could see his shoulders shake with amusement just a bit.

A boy standing nearby said, "Mummy, that lady thinks that giraffes are supposed to have hazel eyes! Isn't that funny?" "Hush, Samuel!" was his mother's response, and she hurried away with her son.

Mr. Knightley turned back to Emma, and said, "Dear Emma, please don't tell me that for all these years you have thought …" He could not finish his sentence because he began to laugh again. "That … is… just … precious …"

"Aunt Emma," asked little John, "why is Uncle George laughing so?"

"It is nothing, John. Why don't you go over to where Henry is, to see the monkeys? Look at that one over there – isn't it a funny one? John, go quickly," she said, giving him a gentle push, and her nephew obediently over ran to his older brother.

Emma turned back to Mr. Knightley, her face flush with embarrassment. "Fine, Mr. Knightley, just fine. There I was, a little girl of no more than Henry's age, I think. And my dear friend, Mr. Knightley, who was so kind to give me a wood carving of a giraffe, told me that giraffes would always remind him of _me_ – and might you have any recollection why?"

"I just might," laughed Mr. Knightley, "I believe I said it was because they have long legs and long eyelashes and … and _big hazel eyes_!"

"Precisely," she said curtly. "Hazel eyes. And how was_ I_, who was only an innocent little girl at the time, and who had always thought so highly of my fine gentleman friend, _Mr. Knightley_, a man of such _integrity_ and _honor_ - how was I supposed to know that he was simply _making fun of me_? Hmph! Yes, I believed you, and yes, I have done so for all these years. How positively silly of me!" She crossed her arms and frowned at him, unsuccessfully trying to muster an expression of outrage.

"Oh, Emma…" Mr. Knightley began to laugh again, "if only you could see the look on your face right now…"

"Well, I feel like a complete fool, thanks to you." She watched him laugh without restraint, and though she wanted to be cross with him, as she gazed again at the giraffes, she thought how ridiculous they would look with anything other than their big black eyes. She could not help herself – his laughter was contagious and she, too, began to laugh at the absurdity of the idea.

"Stop laughing! Stop laughing at once," she said between giggles. "I should be _angry_ with you, not _laughing_ with you at … at _myself_!"

"Dear Emma, how you do amuse me in the most unexpected ways. Don't be angry with me," he said, finally catching his breath. "How lucky the giraffes would be if they _did_ have eyes like yours …"

"Uncle George! Aunt Emma! Come look at the monkeys!" their nephews implored in unison from down the path.

"Well, will you forgive me?" he asked sincerely. Emma wiped away a tear of laughter and nodded her assent. "Good," he said. "What do you say, then – shall we join our nephews?" Mr. Knightley offered Emma his arm and they turned down the lane to where their nephews were comically mimicking the monkeys. Still smiling broadly, Mr. Knightley said playfully, "Look at that little monkey up there, the one at the top, Emma. Is it possible that it has … _hazel_ _eyes_?"

"Ha! You are so very clever, Mr. Knightley." Then with her own sense of mischievousness, she added, "I shall have to find a creature in the zoo that reminds me of _you_. Let's see, do you suppose that they have a … a _hippopotamus_?"

"A _hippopotamus_? Nonsense! I was thinking perhaps a _lion_ – you know, the king of the jungle."

"No, no. That is not at all what I had in mind. Hmm - how about a _Tasmanian Devil_? I have no idea what they look like, but the name certainly seems apropos!" She giggled, then continued, "Now, as penance for your indiscretion against your poor unsuspecting young victim, namely — myself — I hereby decree that you must take the boys and me to tea outdoors at Ranelagh Gardens this afternoon. Do you accept your punishment?"

"Most definitely, yes," he laughed in reply. "Right after we find that _Tasmanian_ _Devil_ of yours. Do you suppose he'll be a handsome creature?"

"I wouldn't count on it, Mr. Knightley," she replied in a mockingly haughty tone, before breaking into a smile.

###

It was a beautiful late summer afternoon at the outdoor café at Ranelagh's. Emma marveled at the extent of the gardens, though her two young nephews, already exercised from their outing at the zoo, were less enthusiastic about conducting a tour. However, the prospect of tea with _two_ lumps of sugar (as Isabella always limited them to just one) and lemon biscuits encouraged them to continue to be on their best behavior. Besides, little John, who was quite tired by now, was delighted when his uncle swept him up and onto his broad shoulders.

After a brisk trip through part of the gardens, Mr. Knightley arranged for a perfect table for them at the café, under the cool shade of a willow tree and far enough away from the outdoor orchestra that they could talk easily and relax as they waited for their tea and biscuits. The boys recounted their fantastic animal sightings, with Mr. Knightley and Emma listening attentively with humored interest, particularly when six-year-old John tried to say "hippopotamus." After he tried "hippamatalus" and "hippapamus" and a few other annihilations of the word, Mr. Knightley set him as ease: "That's alright, John. I can't say it either. We can just say, 'hippo!'"

It might surprise their family to see that as between the two adults, Emma was clearly the disciplinarian. "Henry, please keep your napkin in your vest." "John, please sit up straight and stop swinging your legs." "No more sugar in your tea, boys." "Elbows off the table, please, Henry." Her instructions were always given softly and with the utmost patience and kindness, however, and her nephews adored her, so they quickly followed her every request.

Little John hadn't eaten but two bites of his first biscuit when he said quietly, "Aunt Emma, I think I'm sleepy."

"Oh, course you are, my darling. I'm afraid that your uncle and I have made you miss your nap today. We'll be going home soon, though."

"Would it be alright if I didn't finish my biscuit? May I take it home?"

"Yes, you may, John." Emma hadn't finished her sentence when Mr. Knightley produced his handkerchief, which she accepted gratefully and used to carefully wrap up John's biscuits. Henry then lightly poked Emma's elbow, and when she looked at him inquisitively, he motioned his head towards his younger brother, whose little head was resting on the table. He was fast asleep! She stifled a laugh but smiled broadly, then whispered, "How lucky he is to be able to sleep so easily, but Mr. Knightley, I fear he just might fall over!"

"Not to worry, Emma. I'll take care of him." Mr. Knightley rose and gathered up his little nephew gently, and as he perched the boy on his shoulder, John, in his sleep, instinctively wrapped his arms around his uncle's neck and his legs around the man's waist. Mr. Knightley sat back down and continued his tea as though nothing was amiss.

"You do that so well, Mr. Knightley," Emma giggled. "One might think you've had a great deal of experience!" They finished their tea and biscuits, Mr. Knightley settled the bill, and they rose to leave, John still draped comically on Mr. Knightley's shoulder, and Emma having taken Henry's hand. As they walked past a table nearby, an elegantly dressed older woman smiled at them and said, "Allow me to commend you - your boys are very well-behaved."

"They are, indeed, well behaved, but we cannot take credit for it," said Mr. Knightley. "We must commend their parents for that. The boys are our nephews, you see."

"Well, then, allow me to say that the two of you are lucky to have such nicely-mannered nephews. I might have considered bringing my own children or grandchildren to Ranelagh's when they were that age, had I ever expected them to behave thusly!" she laughed.

Mr. Knightley and Emma exchanged grins that indicated that they agreed with the fine lady, then politely thanked her and bid her adieu. And by the time their carriage was half way back to Brunswick Square, it was all Mr. Knightley could do to keep from laughing anew. Across from him sat Emma, with John curled up and in a deep sleep on her right side, with his head in her lap, and with Henry leaning on her left shoulder, also sleeping. Emma didn't mind, as she didn't even notice: she, herself, was fast asleep, her head leaning gently on Henry's, as the rhythm of the carriage's ride rocked them soothingly after a long day's adventure.


	4. The Butterfly

Notes and Trivia: This is the second of two chapters uploaded on June 1st and the first of two chapters about the ball at Almack's. The terrace and gardens at Almack's are fictional. Lord Byron himself makes a cameo apearance in this chapter. You may know that JLM played Lord Byron in a BBC production a few years ago, so we might have Emma with JLM as both Byron and Knightley in the same scene!

As always, thank you in advance if you have time to review.

###

_Chapter Four: The Butterfly_

Mr. Knightley was speaking with his Aunt Catherine and Mr. Woodhouse while he waited for Emma to come downstairs so he could escort her to the ball at Almack's. When she walked into the parlor, he immediately stood up and said, "Emma ...," but no further word passed his lips. Emma's beauty and elegance had caught him off-guard and had momentarily driven every coherent thought from his normally logical mind.

Fortunately, the chaos that had entered Mr. Knightley's head was masked when his aunt exclaimed, "Miss Woodhouse, you look marvelous! Do come here so I may see you better." Emma glided gracefully into the parlor and at Mrs. Winthrop's request, turned around slowly. Her dress, a birthday gift from Isabella, was fashioned in a simple empire style from off-white silk into which subtle silver threads had been woven. Intricate blue and silver bead work decorated the deep neckline and cap sleeves that ended above her long, elegant gloves. Around her graceful neck she wore a striking but tasteful necklace of small diamonds and sapphires, with delicate matching earrings. In the candlelight, the effect of her attire was one of pure radiance. "Absolutely stunning. You will be the belle of the ball at Almack's. And I am so glad you agreed to wear my necklace and earrings. Isabella was right – they look perfect with your new dress."

"Yes, you look lovely, just as you always do, Emma. I think that Emma always looks lovely," said Mr. Woodhouse happily.

"George, you have not commented on how beautiful Emma looks this evening. Do you not think she looks exquisite?" his aunt asked.

"Yes, of course. You look very nice, Emma," said Mr. Knightley simply, having recovered his composure.

"Nice? Dear me, George, is that the best you can do?" his aunt cried.

"Not to worry, Mrs. Winthrop. I know that Mr. Knightley is no flatterer. If he says that I look nice, that is enough for me. Thank you, Mr. Knightley," Emma said gaily, giving him a sincere little smile.

"Well then, shall we be off?" asked Mr. Knightley, anxious to be able to quit the room before his aunt could launch an inquisition into his opinions about Emma.

###

On the way to Almack's, Mr. Knightley knew he must broach a delicate subject with Emma. She was simply looking too stunning and too appealing, more so than her innocence might be able to handle. He thought about how easy it would be if only she had stayed a little girl, when his only self-imposed duties towards her seemed to be to protect her from climbing a tree too high, or being too sassy, or thinking too highly of herself. Emma had grown up in a comfortable cocoon at Hartfield and Highbury, but now, he thought, it was as though she had transformed into a lovely butterfly that he was holding in his hand. As the butterfly tested her wings for the first time, he realized he was more awed by her beauty and intelligence than he had ever admitted, and he feared that once the butterfly flew up and away from his hand, for the entire world to admire, she might never return.

"Emma, I must ask that you promise me two things this evening."

"Yes?" she asked.

"First, you must not engage in conversation with any gentleman to whom you have not properly been introduced by Mr. or Mrs. Preston or by me. An introduction by the Master of Ceremonies will not do. And second, you must not allow anyone to entice you to venture out onto the terrace, let alone into the gardens."

"Really, Mr. Knightley, you must be joking. I don't think it is necessary to …"

"Emma, please," he interrupted her, "I am serious. You must promise me. Now will you?"

Though she was exasperated by this request – did Mr. Knightley really think she was still a foolish little girl? – Emma rolled her eyes and replied, "Yes, yes, I promise. Though you need not treat me like I am still a child. I am old enough and grown up enough to …"

"… Cause a great deal more trouble than if you _were_ still a child," he said, finishing her sentence.

The look on his face was quite serious, but his words caught Emma so by surprise that she could not help but laugh in astonishment. "Mr. Knightley, I assure you that your worries are without foundation, but as you have so graciously agreed to be my escort, _I_ promise that I will do what I can to make _your_ evening less of a travail. Therefore, I will abide by your request."

"Thank you, Emma. I trust that my request will hinder your ability to have an enjoyable time." The carriage then began to slow. Mr. Knightley looked out the window and said, as the carriage came to a stop, "Ah, here we are. Welcome to Almack's, Emma." This beautiful butterfly was about to fly for the first time.

###

Emma marveled at the grand, classically Greek-styled building, with its large arched windows. Once they had passed through the brightly lit entrance, she realized that there must have been a hundred people in attendance, certainly the largest ball, by far, that she had ever witnessed, but small by Almack's standards, as many of London's society would remain in their country manors until late fall or early winter.

Mr. Knightley was glad that Mr. and Mrs. Preston were already there, waiting for them in the grand entrance hall. Mrs. Preston introduced them to her cousins, Mr. Thomas Tuttle, and Mr. Tuttle's younger sister, Miss Melanie Tuttle, as well as Miss Tuttle's fiancé. Mr. Tuttle, who was about five and twenty years of age, was tall and lanky with a head full of wavy orange-colored hair and abundant freckles. Poor Miss Tuttle was a shorter, female version of her brother, with more freckles than any powder could be expected to hide. However, she had lovely, large green eyes and straight, white teeth, as well as a cheerful and friendly manner about her, and her fiancé obviously could not take his eyes off of her. After the young people acquainted themselves for a few minutes, Mr. Tuttle, with great enthusiasm, said he would be honored to share the next dance with Emma, and she gratefully accepted. Mr. Knightley's little butterfly was now on her way through Almack's, he thought, with more than a bit of trepidation. He calculated that at least Mr. Tuttle seemed to pose no threat to her return.

###

Emma was enjoying herself immensely. She had been apprehensive, at first, that she would feel out of place at Almack's – that she might somehow be set apart for having "country manners." She needn't have feared as much, however, and so far, she had danced almost every dance, though true to her word, never more than two dances with any particular gentlemen, and every one of them had been introduced to her by Mr. or Mrs. Preston.

She was now dancing a second dance with an outgoing young army officer, Lieutenant Denton. During their first dance, his conversation had centered on Napoleon and the fragile peace that had been established with France earlier in the year. Emma was suddenly glad that she sometimes paid attention when Mr. Knightley read the newspaper aloud to her father at Hartfield, so she did not feel like an uninformed country blockhead and could add her own opinions on the subject. During their second dance, unfortunately, Lieutenant Denton went on and on about politics and his father, who apparently was an illustrious MP (whom Emma had never heard of). Emma had no interest whatsoever in politics, and as he rattled on about Parliament, she nodded politely from time to time, pretending to give him her full attention. Finally, the lieutenant changed the subject. "May I ask, Miss Woodhouse, what is your relation to Mr. Knightley? I thought he might be your protective older brother when I was introduced to him, but the two of you do not share the same family name, nor do I see any familial resemblance."

"Oh no, Mr. Knightley and I are not related. His brother is married to my sister, but that is not the extent of our connection. The Knightley and the Woodhouse families have been neighbors and friends for more than a century, or perhaps even two. He promised my father that he would be my chaperone this evening." Emma looked over to Mr. Knightley. Though her chaperone seemed uncomfortable at have been caught watching her, when their eyes met, he did not look away. She gave him a winning smile, which he returned.

"Ah, then I suppose I would do well not to ask you out to the terrace after this dance," said Lieutenant Denton, only half in jest. "He looks ready to throw down the gauntlet were I to do so."

"Mr. Knightley? In a duel? Most assuredly not, Lieutenant! But I would not entertain such a suggestion, even if Mr. Knightley were _not_ watching your every move." She laughed, as did he, and they continued to dance the set.

###

Anyone watching Mr. Knightley that evening would have supposed he _was_ playing the part of worried older brother. He did not dance, so he turned his attention to making sure that Emma hardly ventured out of his sight. At the moment he watched as she stood among a small group of stylishly-dressed young people, apparently regaling them with a story, about what he could not hear, that had them all listening with interest. With her easy-going and open nature, not to mention her usual position at the center of attention everywhere she went in Highbury, she was an experienced storyteller. Emma finished her tale to a round of laughter, and a few minutes later, she excused herself from the group and began to walk back to Mr. Knightley's "post," where she jokingly said he had "tethered" himself for the evening, and where he was now conversing with Mr. and Mrs. Preston again.

Emma's path was intercepted by a very handsome man who was impeccably dressed in evening clothes, his finely chiseled features and flawless smile defining his attractive face, and every dark curl perfectly in place on his noble head. The gentleman, with a most charming smile and a smooth voice, bowed gracefully to her and said, "Excuse me, miss, but I make it a point to make the acquaintance of very ravishing young beauty who graces Almack's with her presence, and in your case, I do not believe we have been properly introduced."

To this blatant overture Emma replied simply, "Indeed, we have not, sir," then proffered a slight curtsey, raised her chin high and walked around him calmly. The gentleman was clearly not used to being snubbed in such a manner, and he stared at her, brow furrowed and mouth slightly agape, as she continued gracefully towards her destination. Then, collecting himself to his full elegance, he walked with indifference in the opposite direction, his gait revealing a slight limp.

"Miss Woodhouse!" said Mrs. Preston. "That gentleman who spoke to you just now, may I ask, what did he say?" Emma told her of their brief exchange, carefully omitting the man's reference to "ravishing beauty," and Mrs. Preston asked, almost breathlessly, "Miss Woodhouse, have you any idea who that man was?"

"Oh yes. Perfectly," she answered. "Miss Tuttle pointed him out to me earlier this evening. That was Lord Byron."

"And you eschewed a tête a tête with Lord Byron?" she asked, incredulously.

"But Mrs. Preston, I cannot speak to a gentleman to whom I have not been properly introduced, even if he _is_ a famous poet." Emma glanced over to Mr. Knightley, raised her eyebrows, and said pertly, "You see, Mr. Knightley? I keep my promises." He smiled at her, more in relief than humor.

"Tell me, Miss Woodhouse, did you find Lord Byron as handsome as my wife claims him to be?" laughed Mr. Preston, looking at his wife.

"Really, Gordon. You must not tease our Miss Woodhouse so," scolded Mrs. Preston. "Mr. Knightley does that well enough without your help." To Emma, she said jovially, "And you must not answer that question, Miss Woodhouse. I forbid it!" Then turning to her husband again, she said, "Now, do be a dear, Gordon, and escort me to get a glass of punch." Emma laughed as she watched the Prestons start towards the dining room. They really were a delightful couple, she thought.

"Are you having an enjoyable evening, Emma?" Mr. Knightley asked.

"Oh, just divine."

"And have you met anyone whom you found to be … particularly interesting to you?" He tried to ask that question as casually as possible.

"Interesting? Hmm, let's see … oh yes! Miss Avery – she has dark curls and is wearing a pretty light green dress, but I don't see her anywhere at the moment." Emma looked about the room. "Anyway, her father is an admiral who at one time sailed with Lord Nelson, and when she was a child, she and her mother sailed with him to the Mediterranean and then the Caribbean. Isn't that fantastic?"

Mr. Knightley breathed a silent sigh of relief and smiled. The butterfly had returned. "Yes, that is amazing. Imagine what an unusual upbringing that must have been."

"Indeed. Highbury seems so boring in comparison, but I think I wouldn't want to exchange the comfort of my childhood with my father for the excitement of her childhood with a sea captain."

"Well, I'm glad, as Highbury would have been very dull, indeed, without that little whirlwind known as Emma Woodhouse racing through it when you were growing up."

"Thank you for that compliment. That is, if it was a compliment, Mr. Knightley. Sometimes it is difficult to tell with you," she laughed. Then she added, with sincerity, "And thank you for making this evening this possible."

"No need to thank me. I've done nothing. I think you ought to thank Mr. Andrews' broken leg. That is what made all this possible. Perhaps we ought to have a toast to Mr. Andrews' slippery stairwell. Shall we join the Prestons in the dining room and then do so?" Emma giggled at his jest; she very much appreciated his sense of humor. She took his arm, and they followed the Prestons.

As they left the salon, an elegantly dressed older woman spoke to them. "My goodness – it is the couple from the outdoor café at Ranelagh Gardens."

"I beg your pardon, Madam?" asked Mr. Knightley, bowing to the lady politely.

"We spoke briefly the other day, at Ranelagh. You and your lovely young wife were with your nephews and I remarked how well-behaved they were."

Emma immediately colored and became tongue-tied, but fortunately Mr. Knightley responded for them both. "Oh, of course, I remember. Your table was near to ours. Our nephews were well-behaved, indeed, but you must allow me to correct you on one important point: May I introduce to you _Miss_ Emma Woodhouse, and I am Mr. George Knightley." He bowed again, formally, and Emma curtseyed. "Miss Woodhouse's sister is married to my brother, so you see, the boys are, in fact, nephews to both of us."

"Oh! I see! Well, I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr. Knightley and Miss Woodhouse, and you must excuse my grievous error. You somehow seemed as … comfortable … as a family, so I wrongly assumed … I am so sorry if I offended you."

"No offense taken, I am sure, my Lady, or is it Mrs…." As Mr. Knightley did not know her name, he could not finish his sentence.

"Oh, I am sorry! I am Lady Rawlings. I am pleased to meet you, as well. Do you live here in London? I do not believe I have seen you at Almack's before."

"No, Lady Rawlings," answered Emma, having recovered from her embarrassment and found her voice. "We are visiting from Highbury, in Surrey. I am here with my father, who has come for business. He and I are staying with Mr. Knightley's aunt in Mayfair, and Mr. Knightley is staying with his brother and my sister in Brunswick Square. We are … old family friends, you see," Emma explained.

"Yes, I see. And you are staying in Mayfair? How lovely. I have a dear friend who resides in Mayfair, by the name of Mrs. Catherine Winthrop. Perhaps you are acquainted with her?"

"Acquainted, indeed," replied Mr. Knightley with a genuine smile. "Catherine Winthrop is my aunt, the one with whom Miss Woodhouse and her father are staying."

"Well, then, this _is_ a small world! Do give Mrs. Winthrop my sincere regards. Now, I won't keep you any longer from the evening's pleasures. It was a very nice to meet you, Miss Woodhouse and Mr. Knightley. I hope you will enjoy your stay in our grand city."


	5. Mr Knightley Reveals His Past

Note: This is the first of two chapters posted on June 3rd, and the second about the ball at Almack's.

As always, thanks in advance if you have time to review.

_Chapter 5: Mr. Knightley Reveals His Past_

Mr. Knightley checked his pocket watch and said, "It is half past eleven, Emma. Have you had enough amusement for one evening, so that I may see you home at a reasonable hour?"

"Eleven thirty is not so late, especially not at Almack's. Could we not stay …" Emma stopped midsentence, as she recognized a somewhat exasperated look on his face, and realized that it was not fair to him – while she had been enjoying herself, meeting new people and dancing, Mr. Knightley had perpetually guarded her from his "post" for much of the evening, often standing among the worried fathers and old men. "Well," she continued, "perhaps we can agree to leave right after you afford me the opportunity to step out onto the terrace?"

"No," he replied immediately.

"But why not? If _you_ take me, then there is no cause for worry, and I can experience firsthand the famous terrace at Almack's."

"Because, Emma, there is no need for you to _experience_ the terrace at all. Now, shall we go home?"

Emma, who was well used to getting her own way, pouted, "Mr. Knightley, have you ever known me to be stubborn?"

"You? Stubborn? I suppose you have exhibited that trait on occasion," he replied with sarcasm, "but only on days the name of which ends in 'y'."

"Ha! You are so clever. But I believe you have not truly seen me be stubborn if you think I am going to walk away from what will surely be the only opportunity of my _entire_ lifetime to experience all that Almack's has to offer. Really, Mr. Knightley, I have ventured all the way to London, and now you do not want me to partake of just a tiny, little bit of life in society? How positively unkind of you. You will practically _force_ me to engage some other gentleman who would be willing to do me the great service of taking me to the terrace." She began to look about the salon, as if seeking a victim. "Ah, perhaps I can locate _Lord_ _Byron_. Do you think _he_ would be willing …?" she said, defiantly.

"Really, Emma, there are times when you truly try my patience. Come. To the terrace it is." He held out his arm abruptly, and as she took it, she smiled triumphantly.

"Thank you, Mr. Knightley. You are so accommodating, and I do appreciate it," she said, in a cloyingly sweet voice that did not have its intended effect on him.

"Hmph! Don't bother me with your niceties, Emma. I won't be swayed by them. I will accommodate your wish in spite of your impertinence, not because of it."

"Well, you needn't be so cross," she replied, but as she looked at him from the corner of her eye she almost imagined he was holding back a smile.

###

As they walked out onto the terrace, the cool night air caught Emma by surprise, so she instinctively shivered and wrapped her arms around herself for warmth. "I should have thought to bring my shawl outside with me. I should have known that it would be cool out here."

Mr. Knightley felt he may have been too harsh with her a minute ago, so he tried to lighten his tone. "Ah, that is _exactly_ why many a young lady who has ventured out onto this terrace has _failed_ to bring her shawl with her. It might lead a gallant gentleman to offer to put his arm around her to keep her warm. It is a game to be played, for sure. But don't _you_ get any ideas about playing it."

"Mr. Knightley!" Emma exclaimed with surprise. She was relieved that he did not seem cross with her anymore, so she teased him back. "How do _you_ know of such games? And no, I don't want to play." She had almost added, "… with you," but Mr. Knightley had been so obliging that she did not want to be insolent. She turned from him and walked several steps towards the low terrace wall, then stopped to look out over the gardens. A few moments later she felt the warm weight of his coat, as he gently placed it across her back and wrapped it around her shoulders from behind. The garment had a wonderful scent about it, causing Emma to instinctively close her eyes and take a deep breath. She was reminded of sandalwood and bergamot … it was a scent that was so … so … "masculine" … that was the only word that came to her mind. She marveled that the coat seemed to warm her from the inside out, not the other way around. Suddenly she opened her eyes wide and thought, Good heavens! What on earth am I thinking? This is _Mr. Knightley's_ coat!

She quickly gathered her wits and said cheerfully to him, over her shoulder, "Thank you, Mr. Knightley. You are most kind, but you need not part with your coat. I would not wish to inconvenience you further. It is not that cold, really."

He replied from behind her, his deep, smooth voice lingering near her ear, "Well, wear it just in case, then. How would I explain to your father that I allowed you to catch cold while we were … out on the terrace at Almack's?"

"Hmmm. You have a point there, and in that case, I accept your coat with many thanks." He moved to stand next to her, and after a pause, she continued, "But please do not change the subject, Mr. Knightley. You have not answered my question. Have _you_ often played such games?"

Mr. Knightley laughed at her persistence. "This is not my first time at Almack's, Emma. I used to come from time to time as a young man. And I imagine that every young man who has obtained an invitation to Almack's has managed to find his way onto this terrace, ill-advised or not, at one time or another."

"Oh, I see!" said Emma, glancing at him with great interest. Now she moved to one end of the terrace, and he walked with her again, the moonlight illuminating their way, until they reached the stairs that led down to the garden. Emma looked out and could see the garden, lit by the moonlight as well as a number of festive lanterns. It was laid out in a pretty pattern and edged on either side by rose beds. At the far end was a high hedgerow of boxwoods.

"I have to admit that I am a bit disappointed by this sight, Mr. Knightley. One hears that the gardens at Almack's are so … enticing … but those at both Hartfield and Donwell are so much grander, are they not? Perhaps the Almack's gardens are more extensive on the other side of that hedgerow, but the hedge is so tall, we cannot see beyond."

Mr. Knightley could not help but be amused at her naiveté; it was really quite charming. "Dear Emma," he said, "I do not think couples venture out here to actually _look_ at the gardens. And that tall hedgerow conceals a maze. The entrances are just to the left and almost to the end on the right, there." He pointed. "Do you see them? The maze is quite well-known for its many cozy and shadowy corners and dead ends."

"Oh!" Emma was so embarrassed that she could not think of anything else to say, and she hoped that the dim lighting concealed her crimson blush. She could not believe her ears. Could it be that this proper gentleman, whom she had known for all of her life, and whom she thought she knew so well, had … had …. Well, she could not even imagine. But she couldn't stop herself from blurting out, "Well, I must inquire whether you, yourself, have had first-hand experience with these cozy and shadowy corners and dead ends?" Once the words were out, she was dismayed at her own imprudence.

Fortunately, he merely laughed and said, "Let's just say that some details are not to be shared, Emma. No further questions on that topic, please."

Emma's curiosity about Mr. Knightley was most certainly piqued, however, and she felt emboldened by his jovial nature, so she sought a way to continue. They were both quiet for a time, but she broke their silence by asking, "May I ask you a question on a somewhat _related_ topic, then, Mr. Knightley?" He did not answer, yes or no, but his silence gave her license to continue, so she drew up the audacity to ask, without looking his way, "Have you ever … Have you ever been in love?" He did not respond immediately, which surely meant the answer was "yes," and Emma's amazement grew as she pondered these heretofore unknown aspects of her old friend's past.

"Why do you wish to know?"

"Well, it's just that … you know everything there is to know about _me_, but I have just come to realize that there must be many things that I do not know about _you_. So I was just curious, I suppose."

"I see," he said, and after a long silence, he finally added lightly, "Of course, I have, Emma. Everyone has been in love at one time or another."

She decided she would need more time to ponder this fascinating disclosure of his, so she announced, "Well, _I_ have never been in love."

"Don't worry, Emma, you still have time," he laughed.

"But I do not intend to _ever_ fall in love. _I_ shall never marry. I have told you that on many occasions, or have you forgotten?"

"I have not forgotten. But just because you fall in love, that does not mean that you will marry the person you have fallen in love with. You must be in a special kind of love before you will want to marry. Not just an infatuation." Mr. Knightley wasn't sure why, but he added, "It must be a love that you are certain can last a lifetime. It must be with someone … whose face is the first thing you wish to see every morning and the last thing you wish to see every night."

"Oh, I see!" These revelations of Mr. Knightley's were about to set her head spinning. For as long as she could remember, they had talked about everything and anything that came to mind, but they certainly had never talked about Mr. Knightley having been in love. It made Emma wonder if she had ever even considered the possibility that Mr. Knightley had ever wanted to marry. Something inside of Emma, something that she could not begin to understand, made her want to know more, and gave her the courage to proceed. "And may I ask you, Mr. Knightley, if _you_ have ever felt that kind of love … was there ever someone you wanted to marry?" Now she looked directly at him.

Mr. Knightley met her intense gaze and analyzed her countenance. He fought, uncomfortably, against the feelings that he had long kept at bay, but that had begun to well up in him at this moment. He had pursued this conversation to tease her harmlessly, and now his rational mind wished it had never begun. The wisest course of action would be to end it right now. While he carried no secrets, there were things about him that Emma had no need to know, and he should just say so. But she was so open, so trusting and so caring, that he suddenly had an overwhelming desire to share everything with her, so he looked away and said, "Yes. Once."

This admission left Emma completely astonished: Mr. Knightley had wanted to marry at one time! She had difficulty mustering a reply, but once she began, a stream of questions followed. "B…but … you did not marry her! Why not? Who was she? When was this? What happened?"

"My, aren't we inquisitive?" he said, glancing at her again. Even in the moonlight, he could see her bright hazel eyes watching him intently. He had said too much already, but for some reason, he did not mind revealing his past to her.

"Well, yes. I admit that I am very curious," she replied. "You have never mentioned … this young lady … before, and I would have thought that you would have, at one time or another, if she was someone you had thought of marrying."

He looked out over the gardens. "It was a very long time ago, Emma. I was young - too young to settle down. She was lively and beautiful, to be sure. I thought I loved her. No, that is not fair. I did love her. Very much. I met her while I was spending a year in London, after university. Hmmm, you were just a little girl at the time. Preston and I decided to take the Grand Tour together. She was unhappy about my decision to travel, as it would keep us apart for a long while, but I thought the time away would do us both good, to see if we really wanted to … to grow old together, or if we would grow apart. But then my father passed away while I was on my trip to the continent."

"Oh yes, Mr. Knightley. I remember," Emma said with sadness. "I was eight years old. You had to come home from your tour. But it took you weeks, first, to receive the news, and then, to make the journey home. We were all so sorry and so worried for you. It was such a gloomy time. I loved your father very much." Emma was lost in her memories for a moment, and then she continued, "He was always so dear to Isabella and me. I think he started the Knightley tradition of visiting Hartfield almost every day. I remember Father used to tease that your father preferred our Cook's supper to Donwell's." Mr. Knightley smiled at this thought and nodded in agreement. After pondering for a moment more, Emma sighed and said, "I do not remember when my mother … passed away … because I was too young, but I remember that time …. with your father. He fell ill so suddenly. Father had told us he was sick, and a couple of days later Isabella and I had gone out to the garden to pick flowers. We were going to take bouquets to your father to cheer him up and make him feel better. I remember that I picked a bouquet of snapdragons. Just snapdragons. Your father was the one who first put my little finger in a pretty dragon flower's mouth and made it 'snap.' I remember how that made me laugh so. Anyway, Isabella and I were about to walk back into the house with our bouquets, when Miss Taylor came out to tell us the terrible news, and I remember that we both started to cry. It still makes me so sad to think about it. But do you know, I still think of your father every time I see snapdragons in bloom." She turned to look at him, her eyes glistening.

"You are kind, Emma," he said gently, and without thinking, he lightly brushed away from her eyes a strand of hair that had fallen from her coiffure. Neither of them spoke for a time.

Emma realized she had interrupted Mr. Knightley's story, so she urged him to continue: "And so … and so you returned to England because … because of your father. And were you reunited with your young lady then?

"Reunited? No. In my absence, she had married someone else," he said simply.

Suddenly, Emma became animated. "Married someone else? No! How could she have done so?" she asked, incredulously. Mr. Knightley was such a fine gentleman that this outcome did not seem possible to her. "How could she have chosen _anyone_ over _you_, Mr. Knightley? _You_, who are so kind and thoughtful and caring, and so brilliant and hard working! The _perfect_ gentleman! How could any woman be such a _fool_?" To Mr. Knightley surprise, Emma spoke this string of compliments with great feeling, and to his even greater surprise, she reached out and took one of his hands in both of hers. "And here you had come back to England, to such sadness, with your father's passing, and then you had to face losing the woman you loved, as well. How did you bear it, Mr. Knightley? And to think that we did not even know that you had _two_ losses to mourn. You never said anything. I am _so_ sorry, Mr. Knightley."

Mr. Knightley was touched by her concern. "That additional loss was not one I would ever have shared with you, Emma. I will admit to you that I was terribly disappointed at first. But I quickly saw that it was really for the best. I think things do have a way of working out as they should. Before I left for the continent, the lady had made it clear that she would only live in London. She had no interest in living at Donwell Abbey. She even refused my requests that she join me when I came back from London to visit my father, which is why you and your family never met her. But I knew, in my heart, that only Donwell could ever be my home. She knew it, too. So after my father passed away, I went back home and took over his position, and responsibility for Donwell and the parish. That is the life I have built for myself, Emma, and it is the life I was born to. I am very content with it. I could not give up Donwell for her, or for any other woman. I could not imagine my life being any other way. I have no regrets, and I would not change the outcome. Truly."

For Emma, a whole new aspect of Mr. Knightley had just been revealed to her. She had always thought of him as being in command of his entire world and impervious to any kind of peril, and it shocked her profoundly, it hurt her deeply, to think that he had once been wounded in this way. "I see," she said softly. "So your wounded heart … has healed?" She looked directly into his eyes, as though she wanted to _see_ his answer, not just hear it, and judge for herself.

"Completely," he replied, and smiled at her.

"I'm glad," she said, and slowly let go his hand. She believed him, but her mind was still in turmoil. "And have you ever seen her … since then?"

"Rarely, but yes, I have seen her. Her husband, who was much older than she, died several years ago and she moved to Vienna for a time. But I have heard she now lives in London again."

"Oh. And she has not remarried?"

Just then, the bells began to strike midnight around all of London. It was a fantastic effect. They listened as each gong struck, and Mr. Knightley, trying to lighten their demeanor after such a serious discussion, said, "Let's have no more talk of the past, Emma. I would not wish to end the evening on such a note, and I am sorry if I distressed you in any way with my story. Besides, the bewitching hour is upon us!"

"So it is," she said quietly. "I wonder why they call it that?"

He laughed softly and tried to cheer her by saying, "Well, some say that when a gentleman steals a kiss from a lady at midnight, he can blame it on having been bewitched by the strike of the clock."

His humor had its intended effect on her, and Emma replied with a wide-eyed a giggle, "I declare, Mr. Knightley, you have furthered my education immensely this evening!"

"Well, your lessons are now officially over. I'm sure I've said too much as it is. Come, it is late. We should be going."

"I promise that you'll get no opposition from me this time," she said lightly. Then she became serious again, for just one more moment. "I have had a wonderful evening. I thank you for being my chaperone, and thank you for our … our conversation, Mr. Knightley. It has meant a lot to me that you were willing to … share your story with me. I mean that with all of my heart."

###

From one of the doorways to the terrace, Lady Rawlings observed with great interest the attractive couple conversing intimately on the terrace, clearly oblivious to everything and everyone except each other. She watched as they headed back into the salon, and was glad that they had not ventured down into the gardens, as she felt that would have exhibited a certain lack of decorum. But such a small world it was – to meet the nephew of her friend, Mrs. Winthrop, twice, in such a short span of time. It was most interesting. She must pay a call on her friend at the first opportunity.


	6. Mrs Winthop's Suspicions Are Confirmed

Notes and Trivia: This is the second of two chapters posted on June 3rd. In Regency times, there was a famous men's haberdashery called "Weston's" but I thought that would be confusing, so I changed the name to "Easton's." Botibol's was a famous ladies' millinery (hat) shop.

As always, thank you in advance if you have time to review.

###

_Chapter Six: Aunt Catherine's Suspicions Are Confirmed_

Mrs. Winthrop received a letter early on Friday morning. She was delighted to see that it was from her friend, Lady Rawlings. What a coincidence – she had planned to write to Lady Rawlings that very day, since she had learned that George and Miss Woodhouse had so recently made her acquaintance. She read the letter with enthusiasm:

_My Dear Mrs. _Winthrop,

_I hope this note finds you well. We have not had an opportunity to visit with one another for several months, and I would very much like to remedy that situation this morning. I trust you are still maintaining your visiting hour at eleven in the morning._

_There is a particular matter, one that brings much delight, about which I would very much like to converse with you. I do not know whether you are aware, but over the last several days, I had the great pleasure of making the acquaintance of your nephew, Mr. George Knightley, on two occasions. On each occasion, he was in the company of a most lovely young lady, Miss Woodhouse, whom I understand is the sister of your other nephew's wife. On the first occasion that I met the young couple, they were in the company of two young boys, their nephews, at Ranelagh Gardens. I saw them again on Wednesday evening, at Almack's. In any event, they are both delightful. What a handsome couple they make! Their felicity is practically contagious, and I have to admit now, with a certain degree of discomfiture, that when I first observed them, they were so at ease in one another's company that I naturally assumed that they were already married. You know how much I do adore a romantic entailment, so I would love to hear the details of this match, which affects your family in such a pleasing way: to have two brothers married to two sisters is such an enchanting prospect!_

_I look forward to seeing you again soon._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Anne Rawlings_

Mrs. Winthrop read and re-read the letter three times over. Its subject explained much, though she did not know whether to be astonished or appeased.

Emma had planned to stay with Mrs. Winthrop during her visiting hour that morning, but that would no longer do, Mrs. Winthrop realized, given the subject of Lady Rawlings' planned visit. She quickly asked her maid to bring Emma to her. "Emma, my dear, I'm afraid that there has been a change in plans. I realize that I have a … an appointment this morning, to which I must attend alone. So if you would not mind too much, perhaps you might join your father and my nephew on their journeys this morning?"

"Why of course, Mrs. Winthrop. I am sure Father will offer no objections. We'll just have to convince Mr. Knightley to put up with my company for a few additional hours."

"Oh, I'm sure we can get George to agree. Don't you worry about that."

###

That morning, Mr. Woodhouse had politely declined Mr. Knightley's offer to stay with him as he met with his agent, Mr. Andrews, at the agent's home. Emma was about to suggest that she could wait for her father in Mr. Andrews' parlor, but Mr. Knightley asked if she might be willing to accompany him to Easton's, on Savile Row; they could return for her father in about two hours time. Two hours at the shops on Savile Row were of infinitely greater interest to her than Mr. Andrew's drab-looking parlor, so she readily agreed.

###

On the counter in front of Emma and Mr. Knightley the clerk at Easton's Haberdashery had carefully placed about a dozen bolts of fabric, which the clerk announced were the shop's newest arrivals from Italy. He held one up and began to describe its qualities. Its pattern consisted of large paisleys on a background that was deep maroon, almost purple to Emma's eyes, and she did not like it. Emma shook her head ever so slightly, and the clerk stopped in mid-sentence. "No, perhaps this one will not suit. But there is this one …." This time Emma frowned openly and wrinkled her nose, and again the clerk put it down and picked up another one. Mr. Knightley had not missed Emma's reactions, so he looked at her and said, "Well, it's a wonder that I've been able to choose my own vests for all these years without your assistance, Emma."

"Well, which fabrics do _you_ like, Mr. Knightley?" she replied, defensively, though she smiled.

"I'm sure I don't know. That is why the clerk is showing them to me."

"And I know that you are about to say, 'I will ask for your opinion when I want it,' so let me just say that I _might_ be inclined to give you my opinion, _if_ you would ask me."

"As I believe you will offer it anyway, let me save time and debate by asking: May I have your opinion, dear Emma?"

"Indeed you may. This one will not do. I do not like the color and the paisley is much too big. And this one is too bright in color. You would not want anyone to think you were a puppy." She giggled at the thought of anyone thinking Mr. Knightley a puppy, then continued quickly, "Now, this pattern is very handsome, and it will be very versatile. And the subtle pattern in this blue one is so very interesting, and the color will go very well with your eyes. And oh, I do like this taupe one, with these brown and cream …" She looked up at Mr. Knightley and stopped suddenly. She had barely taken a breath as she had rattled off her opinions, and now she thought she might have been too quick and too liberal with her views. "I'm sorry," she said. "I suppose I thought I needed to get all of my opinions out before you changed your mind about listening to them." They both laughed, and Mr. Knightley shook his head mischievously, as if to imply that her suspicions were correct.

"Your wife has excellent taste, if I may say so, sir," said the clerk. "How lucky you are. The lady is very decisive - a superior trait, I think." Emma blushed deeply.

"The lady, _Miss_ Woodhouse, does, indeed, have excellent taste."

"Oh, forgive me, sir, miss," the clerk stammered with embarrassment. "Perhaps I should leave you while you make your decision, sir. Excuse me. And please, do forgive me."

"That is quite alright. And I have made up my mind, so perhaps we can take care of this now."

"Ah, very well, sir. I see that you are decisive, as well. Which one have you chosen?"

"I'll take these three," Mr. Knightley said, and he set aside three bolts of fabric - the very ones that Emma had picked out.

"Ah, you have very good taste, Mr. Knightley," Emma said casually, doing her best to hide her smile.

"I'm glad you think so," he replied, not bothering to hide his grin.

###

"And how was everyone's afternoon?" asked Mrs. Winthrop pleasantly, after her guests had returned to Manning House that afternoon.

Mr. Woodhouse replied first. "I had a most prosperous errand. I do believe that Mr. Andrews and I will soon conclude our business, sooner than we had allowed for. Is that not excellent news, Emma? We might return home sooner than we had planned."

"Yes, that is good news about your business, Father. But I think we should not consider returning to Hartfield _too_ soon, lest Mrs. Winthrop think we are not enjoying her generous hospitality."

"Oh yes, dear me, you must not leave before you had planned. I am enjoying your company, and you still have so much to do while you are here."

It was not in Mr. Woodhouse's character to be rude or unappreciative, so he quickly said, "Mrs. Winthrop, please do not misinterpret me. You are the perfect hostess and Emma and I would not want to miss a moment of your hospitality."

"I am very glad to hear it, Mr. Woodhouse. Thank you for your kind words," Mrs. Winthrop replied, having closed off the possibility of an early return to Hartfield, to Emma's relief. "Now, Emma, how did you and my nephew spend your time? As profitably as did your father?"

"Profitable, yes, for the haberdasher and the milliner," said Mr. Knightley, and everyone laughed. "You see Aunt Catherine, we went to Easton's, where Emma tried to convince me that I would look rather dashing in a vest of purple paisleys, but I held her off."

"Purple paisleys? Ha! I did nothing of the sort!" she retorted with a laugh.

"Well, perhaps not, but in any event, as a result of Emma's undue influence, I will end up with _three_ new vests rather than one," Mr. Knightley said lightly.

"There was no undue influence, I assure you," Emma said to Mrs. Winthrop. To Mr. Knightley, she said, "And they will all be quite handsome, as I am sure your aunt will agree when she sees them." Turning to Mrs. Winthrop again, she said, "And I bought a new hat, Mrs. Winthrop. It is delightful – in the latest fashion, I think!"

"Oh, I adore hats! Do let me see it! Shall we call your maid to fetch it? And George, dear, did you accompany Miss Woodhouse to the milliner's?" Mrs. Winthrop simply could not fathom her nephew entering a hat shop!

Emma decided to retrieve the new hat herself, and as she rose from her chair, she said, "Mr. Knightley did, in fact, accompany me to Botibol's, and _he_ was the most _terrible_ influence. Why, he practically _insisted_ that I buy the hat, whereas _I_ thought it too dear and too impractical by half." Emma spoke with feigned seriousness, then broke out into a big smile. "I'll be right back so you can see the hat for yourself, Mrs. Winthrop."

"Hmmm, what an interesting interpretation of the circumstances you have, Emma!" laughed Mr. Knightley. As Emma walked by his chair, she noticed a thread on the sleeve of his coat and without a second thought reached over and picked it off for him. She held it up and laughed. "I believe it is the purple paisley. Perhaps it is a sign that you should have chosen that fabric after all!" she laughed, as she continued to the door.

After Emma had left the room, Mr. Knightley explained to his aunt, "As we were walking by the milliner's, Emma remarked on a particular hat on display in the window, so I suggested she try it on. It did, indeed look smart on her. I think Emma could make a pretty hat look lovelier and even a ridiculous one look less so."

"But I have never known my daughter to wear a ridiculous hat, Mr. Knightley," Mr. Woodhouse quipped.

"Indeed, she has not, Mr. Woodhouse," admitted Mr. Knightley with a laugh.

"Would that other ladies could say the same, however," added a smiling Mr. Woodhouse.

Mrs. Winthrop was very pleased. She had had her suspicions, which had now been confirmed by her own observations, as well as those of her friend, Lady Rawlings. It was obvious how well her nephew and Miss Woodhouse got on together. It was true that there was a rather large gap in their ages, but it seemed to pose no obstacle to them. They were so comfortable and caring with one another, and their good natured banter was undeniable evidence of an strong bond. It was regrettable, in a way, that they had known each other for so long that they would never experience the flirtations and romance of young love; that stage would be bypassed entirely. And whereas Miss Woodhouse's love was likely at times to be impulsive and tempestuous, George's would always be steady and complete. But their demeanors would complement one another's well, and it was clear to Mrs. Winthrop that they shared an equal and abiding admiration and respect for one another. They were, indeed, a splendid match.

There was one aspect of this attachment that left Mrs. Winthrop uncomfortable, in that she was certain that Mr. Woodhouse had not yet been brought into their secret. Would Mr. Woodhouse have allowed her nephew to chaperone his daughter about London if he knew that it was George, himself, with respect to whom his daughter should be chaperoned? Surely not. She realized that sometimes a person who looked out the same window every day did not notice when the scenery gradually underwent changes that would be obvious to a less frequent observer. It must be a prickly situation for the two young lovers, she supposed, but her nephew was a perfect gentleman, and she trusted him completely. Besides, she knew well that Mr. Woodhouse already loved George like a son. How convenient! She could hardly wait for whatever obstacles hindered their announcement to be cleared, so she could offer her enthusiastic congratulations directly. However, she decided that until she was certain that Mr. Woodhouse's blessing had been given, it might be best not to broach the subject with the young lovers.


	7. The Gazelle and the Giraffe

Notes and Trivia. This is the first of two chapters submitted on June 6th. There is a passing reference to Lady Georgiana, the Duchess of Devonshire, who was a rich and famous socialite and notable fashion plate during King George III's reign (and the subject of a 2008 movie entitled, "The Duchess," starring Keira Knightley and Ralph Fiennes).

If any of you find time to review, thank you in advance.

###

_Chapter Seven: The Gazelle and the Giraffe_

As if wonders would not cease during Emma's stay in London, she and Isabella had succeeded in convincing their father and Mrs. Winthop to attend a small dinner party at the Prestons' home. Isabella, John and Mr. Knightley were already at the gathering by the time Emma, Mr. Woodhouse and Mrs. Winthrop arrived. After Emma greeted the three of them, Mr. Knightley said to her, with a smirk, "Emma, Mrs. Preston's cousin, Mr. Tuttle, is here this evening. Apparently, he is very much looking forward to seeing you again."

Emma rolled her eyes and said, with no small degree of sarcasm, "How kind of you to let me know, Mr. Knightley."

"And he said something to me about cows at Hartfield. I wanted to ask you about it."

"Cows?" asked Isabella, with curiosity.

"Cows?" asked Emma, suddenly anxious. "Good heavens, Mr. Knightley! What did he say? And what did you say in reply?"

"It was rather odd. He asked whether I found the cows at Hartfield to be an impediment when I visited. I wasn't sure what he was talking about, so I just said, 'No, the cows at Hartfield are fine cows' or some such thing. Do you know what he meant, Emma?"

"Oh dear, this is awful. You see, when we last spoke at Almack's, towards the end of the evening, Mr. Tuttle implied that … well, he said he might enjoy a visit to Surrey, and I simply could not him allow him to think that I would be interested in such an undertaking, but I did not want to be rude about it. And then I remembered that Mr. Tuttle had told me earlier that he is allergic to cows. That's right, _cows_! Apparently they make him sneeze if he gets too close to them, the poor man! Who has ever heard of such a thing? Anyway, when he suggested a visit, well … I mentioned that we keep cows at Hartfield. A lot cows. In fact, I might have said that they were everywhere, and I might even have implied that … well, that Hartfield was practically overrun with them," Emma explained sheepishly.

"Oh, Emma, you didn't! That is appalling!" said Isabella, and she started to laugh, as did John and Mr. Knightley.

"I'm afraid that I did. Oh, I know that it was a terrible thing to say, and I'm sorry for it now, but I had to do _something_. I assure you that I have given Mr. Tuttle _no_ encouragement. I have been polite, and that is all. But I suddenly realized he needed a little _dis_couragement, and well, I suppose cows were what came to mind. And now the three of you must all play along with my ruse. Do you promise?

John said, "I cannot agree to participate in such a deception, Emma. It would be _udder_-ly ridiculous," and then he laughed loudly, causing Emma to roll her eyes again and then look around with embarrassment, to see if his guffaw had caught anyone else's attention.

Isabella could not help but laugh, too. She hit her husband playfully with her fan and said, "Oh, John, you are worse than Emma. Come, take me away from this conversation before our laughter draws too much notice. Really, Emma, sometimes your imagination gets you into all sorts of mischief." She giggled again and she and John moved away.

Mr. Knightley and Emma were left standing alone. He gave her a serious look and said, "That was badly done, Emma. It was a _cow_-ardly thing to do," then laughed at his own silly joke.

"Oh, _stop_ it Mr. Knightley! Not you, too! I am sure that Mr. Tuttle …"

No sooner had Emma spoken the young man's name, than the gangly redhead walked through the parlor door, spied Emma, and called out cheerfully, "Miss Woodhouse! My cousin told me that you had arrived. How delightful to see you again."

As Mr. Tuttle veritably raced to her side, Mr. Knightley, barely holding back a grin, said, "Ah, Mr. Tuttle, I know that Emma has been looking forward to seeing you again." Emma glared at him, and he continued, "So, I will leave the two of you to catch up on events since you met at Almack's the other evening." Mr. Knightley was gone in an instant.

Emma engaged in small talk with Mr. Tuttle, occasionally looking over to where Mrs. Winthrop, Mrs. Preston and Mr. Knightley were speaking. When finally Mr. Knightley's eyes met hers, he raised his eyebrows and smirked as if to say, "How is Mr. Tuttle?" and Emma narrowed her eyes and returned with a scathing glower that said, "You'll pay for this." Mr. Knightley seemingly read her mind, for he silently mouthed a single, unmistakable syllable: "_Moooo_."

Caught off guard by his humor, Emma had to pretend to have been overcome by a little coughing fit to cover up her laughter, as Mr. Tuttle hovered over her worriedly until she recovered. Just then, three other guests, two ladies and a gentleman, entered the parlor. "Ah, there are Mr. and Mrs. Laughton," said Mr. Tuttle. Emma knew of them; Mr. Laughton was a barrister who had worked often with John. "Mrs. Laughton is a friend of my cousin," he explained. "And that must be Mrs. Laughton's sister, Mrs. Chesterfield. I have heard about her."

Emma watched as Mrs. Chesterfield walked in gracefully and seemingly captured the attention of the entire room. Emma thought she might be the most beautiful and elegant woman she had ever seen. She was petite but very curvaceous, as her gossamer gown evidenced. The jewels she wore – a matching set of earrings, necklace, bracelet and hair pins – were breathtaking enough to have satisfied Lady Georgiana herself. Her skin was like porcelain; her lips were full and pink; and her eyes were the brightest blue color that Emma had ever seen, fringed by impossibly long and dark eyelashes that belied her hair's rich auburn color. It was impossible to say how old she was – might she be anywhere from five and twenty to five and thirty? Emma quickly scanned the room and it seemed that the eyes of practically every man – good heavens, even Father and John! – were momentarily fixed on her as she glided over to greet their host. Emma then surreptitiously looked over at Mr. Knightley, who was still speaking with his aunt; if he had already noticed the new arrivals, he did not give away that fact. But then, she thought, Mr. Knightley was so discreet about everything.

Emma was instantly curious about this strikingly beautiful woman. "Oh, and what have you heard about Mrs. Chesterfield, Mr. Tuttle?"

Mr. Tuttle's face colored immediately, and he answered, "Oh, nothing, really. Only that she is recently returned to London after living on the continent for a time."

###

When Emma was introduced to Mrs. Chesterfield, she thought to herself, she is an elegant and graceful gazelle, whereas I am practically an ungainly and gawky giraffe in comparison. But Emma found the lady to be engaging and vivacious, and she very much enjoyed speaking with her. In fact, Emma was pleased when later on Mrs. Chesterfield sought her out for more conversation. "Miss Woodhouse, your father tells me that you are only an infrequent visitor to London. I hope you are enjoying your stay here. How lonely it must usually be for you out in the countryside."

"Not at all, Mrs. Chesterfield. We are fortunate to have many good friends in Highbury. I often visit my dear friend, Mrs. Weston, who used to be my governess, and I am fond of walking into town to visit our friends there. And Mr. Knightley visits father and me almost every day."

"Every day?" she asked.

"Well, almost. He does not need an invitation. He comes and goes at Hartfield as and when he pleases. There is no formality among us. He is always welcome at our home."

"I see. And when he visits, what do all of you talk about that is ... of interest?"

"What do we talk about? All sorts of things, I suppose: our family, the goings-on in Highbury, the weather, the harvest."

"Do you really talk about the weather and harvest? How trite!" she said with good humor.

"Yes, I'm sure it seems that way, but you must understand that Mr. Knightley is a gentleman farmer and as such, he is always thinking about how much rain we've have and this crop or that. It is an important facet of life in the countryside. Just last week he was worrying about a blight that apparently is affecting the corn crop in Hampshire. We hope it will not affect us in Surrey."

"Goodness me, I never thought of him as a _farmer_," Mrs. Chesterfield said, more to herself than to Emma. "Hmm. What else do you talk of? Politics?"

Emma answered more cautiously now, as it did not seem proper to be speaking of Mr. Knightley to a lady whom she had only just met. "No, Mr. Knightley does not think highly of politics."

"But I understood that he, himself, is a magistrate. He must have an interest in the law," inquired Mrs. Chesterfield.

Well, Mrs. Chesterfield has certainly wasted no time in learning a bit about Mr. Knightley this evening, Emma thought to herself. "The law, yes, but being a magistrate is a judicial post, not a political one. It is the legislature and Parliament that I believe Mr. Knightley sometimes find … trying. He has remarked that they spend too much time debating and not enough time enacting." Emma was rather surprised at herself - she had actually recalled Mr. Knightley's explanations about both his duties as a magistrate and his views of Parliament. Perhaps she had paid attention after all! She did not know where Mrs. Chesterfield intended to go with this conversation, but it was interrupted when the butler announced dinner, and Mr. Tuttle quickly came over to declare that he was to be Emma's dinner partner that evening. Emma somehow feared that this evening was going to be a long and tiresome one, indeed.

###

At supper, Emma and Mr. Tuttle were seated next to one another, and seated across from them were Mrs. Chesterfield and her dinner partner, Mr. Knightley, who engagingly held out her chair as she sat down. Though Mr. Tuttle's conversation seemed endless enough to tire even Miss Bates, Emma was not displeased about this seating arrangement, as she was rather interested to hear Mrs. Chesterfield's conversation with those around her. Mr. Tuttle then asked Mrs. Chesterfield about her recent return to London from the continent.

"Oh yes, I returned from Vienna earlier this year. I moved there a few years ago, after my husband died. I suppose I wanted a change of scenery." Emma was stunned for a moment as a certain revelation hit her. She thought back to Mr. Knightley's story about the woman who had so wounded his heart so many years ago: Mrs. Chesterfield seemed to be about the right age, she was beautiful and lively, she was widowed and she had lived in Vienna. Was it possible that this Mrs. Chesterfield was the very lady who had once thrown Mr. Knightley over for another man? Mr. Knightley's demeanor towards the lady indicated no such thing, however, so she thought surely it was just a coincidence.

"Oh, I am so sorry that you lost your husband, Mrs. Chesterfield. How sad it must have been for you," Emma said politely.

"Yes, well, my husband was quite a bit older than me. Twenty four years older, if the truth be told. He swept me into such a whirlwind courtship that I did not even think of it at the time. But here is a bit of advice for you, Miss Woodhouse: never marry a man who is too old, unless you don't want him to last for too long!" Mrs. Laughton laughed, a little too loud, at her sister's joke, but Emma was shocked. How could a woman make jokes about her husband's death? Even worse, Mrs. Chesterfield had married an older man, just like the woman who had once wounded Mr. Knightley's heart. The coincidences were striking, and the possibility suddenly made Emma's stomach turn. If her suspicions were true, how could Mrs. Chesterfield speak so casually about her husband's hasty wooing of her when the very gentleman she had jilted was seated next to her? It was reprehensible! Emma looked at Mr. Knightley, mentally willing him to catch her eye, but he did not look her way. If the lady with whom he was now engaged in idle chatter really was that same, heartless woman he had known years ago, how could Mr. Knightley possibly endure it?

While feigning an interest in Mr. Tuttle's monologue, she listened to Mrs. Chesterfield's conversation as best she could: "Tell me, how has the weather been in your parish?" Mrs. Chesterfield asked Mr. Knightley. "And your crops, I trust they are faring well this year? I believe heard about an awful blight somewhere …I hope Donwell is not at risk?" It seemed incongruous to Emma that these questions put to Mr. Knightley had sprung from Mrs. Chesterfield's mouth. To a sophisticated lady like Mrs. Chesterfield, the weather only dictated the manner of her dress for the day. And surely she had never thought about crops in her life. That is, until she had cleverly gleaned Mr. Knightley's pursuits … from Emma herself. She instantly disliked Mrs. Chesterfield intensely. And then the woman had the audacity to ask Mr. Knightley if he did not think Parliament spent to much time in debate! Mr. Knightley seemed impressed by the lady's conversation and was surely obliviousness to her insincerity. As she watched Mrs. Chesterfield cunningly work her charms on her old friend, Emma was furious. And as if such matters were not bad enough, Emma also had to contend with Mr. Tuttle's endless prattle. But at least he had not mentioned Hartfield's cows, she told herself glumly.

###

Immediately after dinner, Mrs. Winthrop announced that she was fatigued and was in need of returning home promptly; she would not be persuaded to stay, despite their best efforts. Mr. Woodhouse engagingly agreed to accompany her – he could not allow Mrs. Winthrop to travel without an escort at night, and it was no trouble at all, he assured them. Emma volunteered to return to Manning House with them; she thought to herself that she had had quite enough of both Mr. Tuttle and Mrs. Chesterfield for one evening, thank you very much. However, Isabella did not wish Emma to miss the rest of the party, so she insisted that the Knightleys would see her back to Mrs. Winthrop's home, even though it was a considerable distance out of the way. Poor Emma - her evening would simply have to endure.

###

Emma had been rather subdued for the rest of the evening, and was glad when John decided it was time to leave. As she sat with Isabella, John and Mr. Knightley on the journey home, she answered their inquiries about the evening, but otherwise had little to say. As the Knightleys' carriage drove up to Manning House, Mr. Knightley said to Emma, "I will see you safely inside, Emma."

"As you wish, though it is not necessary," she replied quietly.

In the entry hall, Mr. Knightley helped Emma with her wrap and handed it to the servant, who promptly departed the hall. "So, tell me," he said.

"Tell you what?"

"Tell me what is on your mind, Emma."

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean."

"Come, now. You were not your usual lively self for much of this evening, and you hardly spoke a word on the way home. I think you should tell me what is bothering you. I'm not leaving until you do."

"Well, then, perhaps we ought to arrange a guest room for you, Mr. Knightley," she said sarcastically.

"Em-mmma…" he said, in a tone that was very familiar to her; she had heard it innumerable times before. It told her that this insolent tack she had taken would try his patience. It was as though he was firing a warning shot over the bow.

She surrendered immediately, as she was too weary in both body and spirit to argue with him. Sighing, she said, "I sometimes wish you did not know me so well, Mr. Knightley. It can be extremely inconvenient." He waited patiently for her to continue. "Mrs. Chesterfield is the lady who wounded your heart when you were a young man." It was said as a statement, not asked as a question.

"You are a clever detective."

"There was little detective work required. It was so obvious; _she_ was so obvious."

"Now Emma, that tone does not become you."

"But Mr. Knightley, that joke she made about her husband was so … so … awful, and …" Emma could not meet his eye as she said, "…to speak of his courtship of her when _you_ were sitting right next to her… and …" She was about to tell him that it was she who had told Mrs. Chesterfield about Highbury's crops and the blight in Hampshire and the debates in Parliament, but she thought better of it; he would only see her as meddling. Instead, she said, simply, "I just couldn't _bear_ it. How did _you_ bear it?" She was upset with Mrs. Chesterfield for wounding his heart years ago and being so disingenuous now, and upset with him for forgiving her dreadful indiscretion in the past and allowing her devious attentions now.

"As I told you at Almack's, that wound was fully healed a long, long time ago. Think no more of Mrs. Chesterfield. Now, off to bed with you, right? I will return tomorrow at noon, to take you to see the Elgin Marbles."

With this reminder of their planned adventure for the morrow, Emma's spirits were lifted a little bit. She nodded and said, "Oh yes, Mr. Knightley. I look forward to it. Thank you."

"As do I. Now, I'd best depart, before John and Isabella begin to wonder if you've absconded with me," he said with a smile, and bid her good night.


	8. The Debate Over Athens in London

Notes and Trivia: This is the second of two chapters submitted on June 6th. In this chapter, I hope to show that "clever" Emma and Mr. Knightley share an intellectual curiosity. The "Elgin Marbles" are the frescoes from the Parthenon in Athens that were brought to England (amidst much controversy, which continues to this day) by Lord Elgin in the early 19th century. They were not put on public display in the British Museum until 1817, so I've taken liberty with this date. Many of you may know "Mirvat's" by its current name, "Claridge's." It was renamed in the 1850's by its then-new owner, William Claridge, and was well-known in London even before it became one of Queen Victoria's favorite places. And a final bit of trivia – there are quite a few more than the referenced six blocks between Claridge's (or Mirvat's) and the British Museum.

Thank you in advance if you find the time to review.

###

_Chapter Eight: The Debate Over Athens in London_

From their vantage on a cold marble bench in the middle of the large gallery, Emma and Mr. Knightley were quietly admiring the friezes that Lord Elgin had brought to England from the Parthenon in Greece and that were now resident in grand style at the British Museum. Emma's morning had not been nearly as tranquil as the ambiance at the museum now offered, however. _Three_ times her father and Mrs. Winthrop had spoken of Mrs. Chesterfield: Wasn't she beautiful and elegant? Wasn't she well-informed and wasn't her conversation scintillating? Wasn't it so sad that such a lovely and charming lady had been widowed so young? Wasn't it such a shame that she had no children to remind her of her dear departed husband? Wouldn't it be wonderful to meet her again? Emma had no interest in hearing anything more about Mrs. Chesterfield, so she had remained mute during these discussions and had finally made an excuse to quit the salon. The minutes had ticked by at a snail's pace as she impatiently waited for the appointed hour of Mr. Knightley's arrival to escort her to the museum. She could hardly wait to quit Manning House, and she had checked her watch and wandered past the front hall to surreptitiously peek out the large windows several times as noon approached. When Mr. Knightley had "finally" arrived (though he had actually been early), Emma had practically swept him back out the entry door, even before the butler had taken his hat, under pretense of being anxious to see the Elgin Marbles.

But now Mrs. Chesterfield was the furthest thing from Emma's mind, as she serenely sat with her old friend, awed by the lifelike reliefs carved from massive blocks of marble, depicting everything from the legendary personalities of Olympian gods; Athenian soldiers in battle, on horseback and driving chariots; and odd mythical creatures such as centaurs; to women dressed in flowing gowns, musicians playing archaic instruments and common livestock grazing. The details were incredible: bulging veins and muscles in the soldiers' arms, individual curls in the ladies' hair, and flowing manes and flared nostrils on the horses. Despite the ravages that time, neglect and warfare had wrought on the Marbles, they remained incomparable examples of classical Greek art.

In a quiet, whispered voice, Emma now read aloud to Mr. Knightley a passage from a book about the Marbles that had been written by Lord Elgin himself. She finished the passage and gently closed the book. "So, what do you think?" she said softly.

"The craftsmanship is so fine, so exquisite, that it is difficult to comprehend that they might be two thousand years old," Mr. Knightley whispered in reply.

"Oh, I agree. They are magnificent. Can you imagine living in those times? They were ordinary people, just like us, going about their daily customs and routines."

"Hmm, yes. I know what you mean. Their lives must have been so different to ours, and yet, in some respects, so much the same."

"Exactly!" Emma whispered.

"It is a shame to think that the Marbles have been damaged so much. I think it was a good thing for Lord Elgin to have brought them to London, despite the controversy. They will be safe here and easily viewed by many more admirers than if they'd been left unprotected in the dust and unrest of Athens."

"True, but it does seem a travesty to the people of Greece to have taken away such treasures." Emma and Mr. Knightley were renewing a topical debate in England. "I do agree that they must be preserved for everyone, though. Perhaps casts of the Marbles might be made here, and then taken to Athens, so the Greeks could again enjoy the friezes at the Parthenon, while the originals remain safe in London. Or perhaps England might keep them only until peace is settled between the Turks and the Greeks, and the Marbles are no longer in danger. Perhaps they might be returned to a safe environment in Athens in a generation, or even a hundred years, from now."

"Why Emma, I think you have the makings of a diplomat." Mr. Knightley smiled at her.

"Well, thank you for indulging me, Mr. Knightley. I am sure that I shall never forget this wonderful expedition of ours. The Marbles are every bit as spectacular as I had hoped."

"It has been my pleasure, Emma. I was keen to see the Marbles, as well. Now, when you are ready, can I interest you in tea? Mirvat's is not more than a half dozen blocks from here. It might be a nice walk, but we can take the carriage if you'd prefer. In any event, I'll be sure to get you back to Aunt Catherine's in plenty of time to get ready for the symphony this evening."

"Oh, I would enjoy that very much, Mr. Knightley. I've always wanted to go to Mirvat's for tea; I've heard so much about it. And I would prefer to walk. I miss all the walking we do in Highbury, don't you?" They rose to leave the gallery.

"I agree. When I come to London, it is one of the things I miss most about not being home."

"What else do you miss?" she asked.

"Hmm, well, when I am in London, I suppose I miss your impertinence and constant stream of questions."

"And when you are in London, I suppose I miss your teasing and constant stream of corrections. But lucky for us that neither of us must do without on this trip!" They both laughed – much too loudly, based on the cold stares they received from the other visitors in the gallery - so they quickly stifled their laughter and hurried towards the exit.

3


	9. The Games People Play, Part One

Notes and Trivia: This is the first of two chapters posted on June 10th. In Regency times, the term "making love" meant something entirely different than it does today and was completely "innocent" by today's standards. In fact, in JA's time, when a gentleman whispered "sweet nothings" into his sweetheart's ear, he might have been considered to be "making love" to her.

If any of you find time to review, thank you in advance.

###

_Chapter Nine: The Games People Play, Part One_

The day after the excursion to view the Elgin Marbles, Emma, Isabella, John and Mr. Knightley received invitations for supper at the Laughtons' later that week. Emma had little interest in attending, as she was sure to encounter Mrs. Laughton's sister, Mrs. Chesterfield, and more important, she would have a simply awful time if she and Mr. Knightley continued to be angry with each other. She could think of no polite way to refuse the invitation, however. At least, Emma mused, Isabella and John, who were nothing if not homebodies, were certainly getting out and about while she was visiting. But then she grimly thought again about what had transpired at their outing to the symphony last evening. What had started out as a lovely engagement had ended very badly, at least for Mr. Knightley and herself.

###

John had secured a box at the symphony hall for the six of them – Emma, Mrs. Winthrop and Isabella in the front row, and Mr. Woodhouse, Mr. Knightley and John in the row behind. Before the concert began, Mrs. Winthrop had whisked out her opera glasses to see who was in attendance, happily pointing out to Emma "Lord this" or "Lady that" or "Sir somebody." She complained how aggrieved she was that she could not see who was installed in the boxes above and below theirs, and she laughed when Emma suggested that a set of mirrors should be placed about the hall, so the reflections could provide a more complete disclosure as to who was in attendance. Mrs. Winthrop's running commentary was quite humorous, and from time to time she would hand the glasses to Emma or Isabella, so they could join her covert surveillance of the guests. And then Mrs. Winthrop announced that she had spied Mrs. Chesterfield in a box on the upper floor. "Ah, there is the delightful Mrs. Chesterfield. I am sure she looks as beautiful as ever. I can't tell what jewels she is wearing this evening. Isabella, do you suppose those are rubies or amethysts?" Emma politely refused the opportunity to look through the glasses to see for herself.

Once the symphony began, Emma was in heaven. The orchestra first played a Beethoven violin sonata, and Emma was awed as she watched the violinists' fingers fly. It was one of her favorite pieces, and even after years of practicing it, she appreciated its difficulty. The next piece was just as impressive, and before she knew it, it was time for the intermission. Isabella, John and Mr. Knightley were heading to the reception area for the box seats, but Emma offered to stay with Mrs. Winthrop and her father. After the others had left the box, Emma looked around and laughingly remarked that with so few guests remaining in the hall during intermission, Mrs. Winthrop's opera glasses would have to be given a rest. At that remark, Mrs. Winthrop insisted that Emma venture out to the reception area, too, to see if she might find anyone interesting; she and Isabella could report back to her.

"But how will I find Isabella in the crowd?" asked Emma.

"It will be quite simple. As Isabella will be with my nephews, just look for two tall and very handsome gentlemen, and there you will find your sister," Mrs. Winthrop quipped. "Go quickly now, Miss Woodhouse."

The reception area was even more crowded than Emma feared it would be. She made her way through the throng tentatively, hoping to spot Mr. Knightley or John above the crowd. Just then she spied Mr. Knightley several yards away, but he was not with Isabella and John. He was speaking with Mrs. Chesterfield! That woman was everywhere, she thought to herself. Mrs. Chesterfield was laughing at something he had just said, demurely bringing one elegant gloved hand to her ample and prominently displayed bosom while the other gracefully waived her fan. Good heavens! That woman is practically _flirting_ with him, she thought. Emma took a few steps back and stood, partly hidden by a column, where hoped she might not be observed as she watched their conversation.

She was startled when from over her shoulder a smooth voice whispered into her ear, "How fortunate that the fates have decreed that we meet a second time." She immediately turned and looked into … Lord Byron's blue eyes.

He quickly placed his finger on her lips for a brief moment and said, "Shh! Don't speak!" Emma was too shocked at his audacity to form words, even if she had wanted to. Then he said, "Please don't walk away from me. I know that you have a clever retort at the ready that will set my head reeling, just as it did at Almack's. So before you speak, please allow me to say that I am very happy to see you again, Miss … Miss …."

"Woodhouse," she said, having gathered her composure.

"Ah, Miss Woodhouse. What a poetic name. I am …"

"I know who you are, Lord Byron. And I assure you there is nothing poetic about my name," she laughed.

"Of course there is. It is no ordinary name. Now Miss Wood or Miss House, _that_ would be ordinary. With but a little imagination, I could invent all sorts of inspired rhymes and other _pairings_ for _Miss Woodhouse_. But the more important point is that you could only object to conversing with me without a proper introduction upon our _first_ meeting, and now that this is our _second_ meeting, and I know your name and you know mine, there is no longer any impediment, now is there?"

"I declare, your rationale is inspired, my lord."

"Hmmm, I do like the sound of that coming from you, Miss Woodhouse. But I suspect you will call no man 'your lord' and ever truly mean it."

"I must say, for having known me but five minutes, you are quite insightful." Emma found herself immediately drawn into conversation with this handsome man. She was flattered by his attentions, and greatly amused by his dialogue.

For his part, Lord Byron was somewhat disappointed that she was "Miss" Woodhouse. He had seen her escorted by a particular gentleman at Almack's, and had assumed he was her husband. Married women were so much more _willing_ and a dalliance with a married woman was generally forgiven, he found. Of course, married women were sometimes _too_ easily persuaded, and he _did_ enjoy the chase. He could easily tell that Miss Woodhouse was pure and innocent, a ripe fruit waiting to be picked and devoured, and her clever repartee and saucy manner foretold she would be an eager student in matters carnal, but he had long since learned that unless there were other men waiting in the wings to testify that they, too, had shared intimacies with a young unmarried lady, the marriage demands that would inevitably come from the lady's outraged father made it an unwise venture. No, his steadfast rule was that virgins were off limits. But, he told himself, he could still enjoy a bit of _verbal_ intercourse with her.

"And you are visiting London, then? You do not make your home here."

"Yes, how did you know?" Emma was concerned that something about her manner or dress might have set her apart in an unflattering way.

"I told you at Almack's. You are a ravishing beauty, Miss Woodhouse, and had I ever before spied your beautiful hazel eyes or your winning smile or your graceful elegance, the memory would have forever been imprinted in my memory. Just as it has been since Almack's."

"You are such a flatterer, my lord," she laughed, deliberately making clear that _she_ was not taken in by his words. "What makes you think I believe anything you have to say?"

"To you, I shall speak only the truth. You look beautiful this evening. That is the truth of how I feel. Your gown is lovely, as was the one you wore to Almack's. I committed that one to memory: it was off-white with intricate blue beads around the neckline. Hmmm, I shall have to do the same for this gown. And I particularly like your earrings. They are emeralds?" He reached over and to Emma's astonishment, he touched one of her earrings, where it dangled below her earlobe. As he did so, his fingers lightly but deliberately slid against the side of her neck. Emma's eyes widened, but she did not move away. "And that locket around your neck… I wonder whose likeness it holds – who is the lucky man who holds your heart so? Would that it were _my_ likeness in it, lying on your breast, so close to your heart." Emma instinctively reached for the locket. She could not let him touch it has he had her earring!

"It holds my mother's likeness," she said, then added saucily, "You shouldn't always make assumptions." The usher then hurried by, announcing that the symphony would begin again in five minutes. People began to file past them, heading for the doors to their respective boxes.

"We have so little time," he said, "unless, of course, you are not enjoying the concert and we might find another way to spend the rest of the evening …" he said, suggestively.

"Actually, I am enjoying it very much, so we shall simply have to part now."

"Then at least tell me where you are staying in London, so I do not have to play the part of Romeo, wandering through the streets of Verona, searching for his Juliet. Then the 'where' of our next meeting will be answered, and only the 'when' shall remain a mystery."

"And tell me, am I supposed to spend my nights on the balcony, crying out for my Romeo?"

"That depends. Do you have a balcony where you are staying?"

"No!" she laughed. "Besides, Shakespeare's play ended with poison and daggers. Is that what you foresee for us?" Just then she felt a firm hand grasp her left arm, above the elbow, from behind.

"Emma, there you are," said Mr. Knightley severely. He moved in close to her, protectively, still holding her arm. "It is time that we returned to our seats. The symphony will begin again soon."

"Oh! Mr. Knightley," said Emma, suddenly embarrassed. She did now know how much of her conversation with Lord Byron he had overheard.

Lord Byron recognized this gentleman as the one Miss Woodhouse had been with at Almack's, and one look at the other man told him everything he needed to know. The intense glare in his eyes, the firmly set jaw – Miss Woodhouse had a jealous lover; Lord Byron was well-schooled in making such determinations. Perhaps Miss Woodhouse was not as innocent as he originally thought, but a confrontation with a formidable opponent, even over a delicacy as enticing Miss Woodhouse, was rarely worth the trouble, not when there were so many other willing ladies. "Allow me to introduce myself," said Lord Byron casually, and he bowed. "I am George Byron. And, Miss Woodhouse, I am glad to learn your given name. 'Emma' is a lovely name; I prefer it to 'Juliet.'"

Emma's cheeks remained flushed as she managed to say, "Lord Byron, may I introduce you to Mr. Knightley." She felt no compunction to explain her connection to Mr. Knightley. Mr. Knightley bowed slightly, but said nothing.

"It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. Knightley. And Miss Woodhouse, it would seem that we must part now. I have enjoyed our … conversation … immensely." Lord Byron reached out, took her right hand in his, and brought it to his lips. Emma was astounded that he took such a liberty with her, particularly as Mr. Knightley still held her close. In an instant, the poet was gone.

There were few people still left in the reception area as Mr. Knightley quickly led her towards their box. "Just what did you think you were doing, Emma?" he said, not bothering to hide his anger.

"I was merely having a conversation, Mr. Knightley."

"A conversation in public with a well-known scoundrel?"

"And would you have preferred that I had spoken with him in private, Mr. Knightley?" she responded defiantly.

"Don't be ridiculous. Your insolence is perfectly maddening."

"Well, why is it that _your_ social connections, public or otherwise, are of no consequence, and you can dally about, however you please and with whomever you please, but _my_ conversations must be so severely scrutinized?" He was still holding her arm as they reached the door to their box. "You are hurting me," she lied, and she briskly pulled her arm out of his grasp.

"Forgive me if I hurt you, Emma. You are right that my social connections are of no consequence. But you must realize that ten minutes with a man like Lord Byron, even in a public place, is all that might be needed to ruin a young lady's reputation," he said heatedly.

She was furious. "Why how _dare_ you imply …" She stopped suddenly; she knew how best to vex him, so she immediately changed her tone. "Well, that is _your_ opinion, anyway," she said haughtily, as if his views meant nothing. "Besides, I daresay no one saw us."

"Oh, so am I _no one_ to you, Emma?"

Just then the usher hurried by again, making his final announcement, looking away discreetly as he passed them. "We'd best return to our seats, Mr. Knightley," she said coldly, "lest we miss the rest of the concert."

###

The next morning, Emma went Brunswick Square to spend the day with Isabella. Mr. Knightley had barely looked at Emma before he and John left for their appopintments. Later that morning, after Emma and Isabella had received their invitations to the Laughtons', Isabella asked, "What have you and George argued about, Emma?"

"What makes you think that we have argued?"

"Oh Emma, it is obvious. The two of you are like a bickering old married couple sometimes, and neither of you even realizes it. Did something happen last night, at the symphony? You two seemed fine until then."

"Oh, Isabella, something did happen last night. We did argue. The circumstances were so dreadful, but so … exciting, in a way." She paused, then added eagerly, in a whisper, "I met _Lord Byron_!"

Isabella's eyes flew open wide at this overture. "You didn't! Come up to my room, Emma. You must tell me everything," she said, and she swept her sister upstairs to her little parlor. Emma confessed everythimg to Isabella about her encounter with Lord Byron, and answered all of her sister's questions about him - his looks, his words, his manners. Neither of them found it odd that in every respect the standard against which Emma measured Lord Byron seemed to be Mr. Knightley: His eyes were a beautiful blue; they were even bluer than Mr. Knightley's. He was tall, though perhaps not quite as tall as Mr. Knightley. He had a finely chiseled nose and a firm jaw line that reminded her of Mr. Knightley's, though he was a good deal younger than Mr. Knightley, perhaps ten years to so, so that must make him about six and twenty. He had a wonderful sense of humor, though Mr. Knightley would not approve. He did seem immensely enamored with himself; he was not appropriately modest like Mr. Knightley….

Emma held back no detail that she could remember – even the most personal ones, such as Lord Byron's comment and action with respect to her earring – and while Isabella was shocked, she could not hide that she was also a bit enthralled. "Why Emma, I cannot believe that Lord Byron was practically making love to you right there in the reception room!" she exclaimed.

"He was doing so such thing, Isabella! I know that it was just a game that he was playing with me. I meant nothing to him. Why, he must find women throwing themselves at him all the time; he needn't waste his time with me. And furthermore, I do not approve of such flirtations, surely you know that. I wasn't any more serious that he was. I was just playing along with his game, that's all. It was just a little game."

"So you and George argued over Lord Byron, then?" asked Isabella. Emma's mood changed as she then explained how Mr. Knightley had interrupted her conversation with Lord Byron, and how she had been embarrassed and angry and humiliated when he had practically dragged her away. She was still so livid that she even told Isabella how her argument with him had ended, with Emma failing to discount Mr. Knightley's claim that she thought he was "no one."

Emma was astonished by Isabella's response: "Oh Emma! You didn't! The poor man!"

"Poor Mr. Knightley? What about _my_ feelings?"

"Oh Emma, you would not wish to be seen as ungrateful, especially to him. Think of all he has done for you and Father. You are here only because of the arrangements he made. Have you ever known George to spend more than three days visiting us at Brunswick Square? No, of course not. He never wishes to be away from Donwell Abbey for long. He has much to do there, and he cannot allow his responsibilities to languish. But he has stayed, only to see to Father's comfort and your happiness." When Emma gave her a look of surprise, Isabella continued, "Yes, that is exactly right, Emma. _Your_ happiness. Have you not realized this? Tell me, did George dance many dances at Almack's the other evening?"

"Mr. Knightley? No, none at all. You know he never dances."

"That is exactly my point, Emma. He never dances. And did he gamble at Almack's?" Emma shook her head "no." "Precisely, again. Almack's has nothing to draw him in. He is not a dancer. He is not a gambler. But he went with you, anyway, and only so that _you_ might find enjoyment and experience a little of London society. Father would never have let you go without an escort. George only wants to protect you, Emma, as he has done since you were a little girl, as an older brother would do. You cannot expect him to let go of you completely just because you have grown up. In fact, in some circumstances, it may be more imperative that he protect you now. Surely that is what prompted him to act as he did with respect to Lord Byron, and surely you cannot fault him for it."

Emma turned away from her sister in dismay. "Oh Isabella, I never thought of it that way. You are right. I have been so selfish and so unfeeling and rude to him. Mr. Knightley has every reason to be angry with me. I was inconsiderate and perfectly horrible. I feel simply awful! What shall I do?"

"That is a very easy question to answer, Emma. You must apologize to him at the first opportunity, and with the utmost sincerity."

###

That afternoon, after John and Mr. Knightley had returned from their appointments, they joined Isabella and Emma in the parlor. After pleasantries had been exchanged – of the most perfunctory sort between Emma and Mr. Knightley – Isabella surreptitiously caught Emma's eye and nodded her head towards Mr. Knightley. Then she said to her husband, "John, do join me to see how the children are fairing with their dinner."

"As you wish, my dear," John replied, and Emma and Mr. Knightley were left alone. Mr. Knightley did not look at her or say a word. He picked up a newspaper, held it up to create a wall between them, and began to read. It might as well have the Great Wall of China, Emma mused glumly.

"Mr. Knightley?" she said quietly. He did not answer her, so she moved to sit next to him on the sofa. "Mr. Knightley," she said again, and then she leaned over and gingerly pushed down the newspaper that was shielding him from her view.

"What is that you want, Emma?" he said curtly.

"Well, today is a very special day, so I thought you might want to make a note of it in your journal or your ledger or wherever it is you write down important events."

"Oh really, and what is this event that _you_ think is so important?"

"It is a rare day, Mr. Knightley, because I am going to admit that I was wrong and you were right. I was _completely_ wrong and you were _completely_ right last night. I know that I started with a jest, but please know that my apology is true and sincere. It was improper of me to speak with Lord Byron as I did, or at all. I should have immediately walked away, just as I did at Almack's. You were right to put me straight. And I apologize for and I regret all of the awful things I said to you. I was incorrigible. I _do_ appreciate everything you have done for me, Mr. Knightley, not only here in London but when we are at home, too. I know that I do not say thank you as I should, and I am sorry if I have ever seemed ungrateful. It pains me to think about how I acted, and I hope you will forgive me." She looked at him directly, but nothing in his countenance gave away any hint of what he might be feeling or thinking. She bit her lower lip in anticipation. "Well?" she asked.

"Well, what?" he replied.

"Well, do you think you can ever forgive me?"

"I will ponder that question and get back to you tomorrow." He raised the newspaper again, so his face was hidden.

Emma was stricken. "Oh, I see," she said quietly. "Well, I deserve that. I just hope that you will find it in your heart to forgive me. I hope that we can be ... friends again."

Immediately the newspaper came down and he tossed it aside. This time, he had a soft smile on his face. "Dear Emma, of course I forgive you. I appreciate that you have offered so genuine an apology. And for my part, I will also apologize for being short with you. I realize that you need to find your own way in the world, and though I might like to be there to look after you every step of the way, I will say to you that I always trust you to do the right thing. In fact, I'd wager that Lord Byron himself would be no match for _your_ clever repartee. Now, let's put it all behind us, shall we? Right after I make that notation in my ledger." He let out a small laugh.

Emma sighed with relief. "Oh, Mr. Knightley, thank you. I am so glad that you can forgive me. So, then, we can be friends again?" She reached out and placed her hand on his.

"We shall always be friends, Emma," he said with a smile, and he gathered up her hand in his and pressed it gently. She smiled back.

When Isabella returned to the parlor a half hour later, she was pleased to find Emma and Mr. Knightley playing backgammon, chattering as though nothing had ever been amiss. She looked to Emma, who gave her a quick smile and a slight nod of the head that confirmed that all was well within the family.


	10. The Games People Play, Part Two

Notes and Trivia: This is the second of two chapters posted on June 10th. The British crown jewels are kept safe in the Tower of London (in the "Jewel House"). "Vingt et un" (French for "21") was the name often used in Regency times for the card game "Black Jack" or "21." I don't know how whist is played, so I've just assumed it is something like bridge, spades or similar card games.

If any of you find time to review, thank you in advance.

_Chapter Ten: The Games People Play, Part Two_

Emma had been complimenting Mrs. Laughton on her lovely home when through the corner of her eye she saw Mrs. Chesterfield enter the parlor and approach her sister and Emma. She quickly determined that this evening Mrs. Chesterfield was once again drawing considerable attention to herself, what with her décolletage exposed by her brilliant blue dress (which left little to the imagination, Emma thought) and her jewels that were even more elaborate than the ones she had worn to the Prestons or the symphony (which she probably kept in the Tower of London, Emma mumbled to herself). As Mrs. Chesterfield greeted her with a warmth that Emma found contrived and with a smile that Emma found smarmy, Emma vowed to be her most charismatic self, even if it killed her. At least Mr. Tuttle is nowhere to be found, she thought.

###

Emma tried to match Mrs. Chesterfield that evening, charming remark for charming remark, but where she thought Mrs. Chesterfield disingenuous, Emma made every effort to appear sincere, and where the older woman was too overt, Emma endeavored to be demure. Mrs. Chesterfield's conversation might be interesting, but Emma was determined that hers would veritably sparkle. Of course, Emma could not help but notice that Mrs. Chesterfield seemed to turn considerable attention to Mr. Knightley, who did nothing to discourage her. Alas, there was nothing Emma could do about that.

After supper, as was the custom, the gentlemen retired to the billiard room for their port and cigars and the ladies went to Mrs. Laughton's favorite parlor for sherry and conversation. A lady whom Emma had so far met only briefly, called Mrs. Ames, asked, "So, Mrs. Chesterfield, what are your plans now that you have returned to London?"

"Well, I haven't really decided, but I do believe I am in need of a project," she replied.

"Yes, but I thought you already had a project in mind, dear sister," said Mrs. Laughton wickedly. "I thought you had opened your eyes to the prospect of remarrying. Oh, was it opening your eyes or your financial ledger?"

"Oh, Lizzy, how perfectly iniquitous you are," Mrs. Chesterfield laughed in reply. "You know quite well that my financial needs were sufficiently fulfilled by my first marriage, thank you very much, to say nothing of my jewelry case, as if you hadn't noticed." Mrs. Chesterfield casually placed her hand on the diamond and sapphire necklace at her throat and gave a smile that Emma could only describe as vulgar. "Yes, I believe that I am already getting bored, just as I became bored with living in Vienna. So I do believe I am, indeed, in need of a project, and marriage might be just the thing."

Emma was shocked at this conversation. Such rudeness! Such impropriety! If this was how married ladies spoke amongst themselves, Emma was glad she would never join their ranks. Then she looked at Isabella, who was clearly equally uncomfortable. The look she exchanged with her sister told Emma that it was Mrs. Chesterfield and Mrs. Laughton's impropriety, and not the ladies' marital status, that formed the basis for this inappropriate subject matter, and Emma was relieved that at least Isabella shared her opinion.

"But surely only a very _particular_ liaison would induce you to give up your freedom now, my dear sister," Mrs. Laughton replied, with a raised eyebrow. "I believe that you always said that your _second_ marriage would come with a _title_?"

"Yes, I have said that often," laughed Mrs. Chesterfield. "However, I haven't found any eligible elderly or infirm dukes yet!" The ladies, or some of them at least, laughed, and Mrs. Chesterfield continued, "But a title isn't mandatory if I can find the _right_ gentlemen."

Her sister responded, "Well, I've never known you to have any difficulty getting men to fall in love with you. So perhaps you are looking for a _different_ challenge this time."

"Hmm, what might you be implying, Mrs. Laughton?" Mrs. Preston asked with a smile. "Perhaps that _Donwell Abbey_ is not entirely safe?" Emma was stunned!

"Donwell Abbey? I assure you that I have no interest in Donwell Abbey," Mrs. Chesterfield said immediately, in a serious and proper manner. Emma breathed a sigh of relief and was glad to see, as she met Isabella's eyes, that the Woodhouse sisters' point of view was again in alignment. But then Mrs. Chesterfield smirked and added, "Now, as to the _master_ of Donwell Abbey, that might be a different matter!" Isabella's jaw dropped, and Emma cringed. While Emma and Isabella sat dumbfounded, the other ladies practically shrieked with laughter. Emma looked away, her cheeks burning with embarrassment and anger for having listened to such improper drivel.

"Well, enough of this nonsense," said Mrs. Preston, after noticing Isabella's disapproving reaction. "Shall we play a game? How would everyone like to play Vingt et Un?"

"Oh, I adore Vingt et Un," said Mrs. Chesterfield. All of the ladies agreed, except for Emma, who smiled but said nothing. Emma did not think that anyone had noticed her failure to respond with enthusiasm, but Mrs. Chesterfield clearly did. Though Emma did not realize it, it was not the first time this evening that Mrs. Chesterfield had observed Emma carefully.

"And you, Miss Woodhouse, do you not play Vingt et Un?" Mrs. Chesterfield asked.

"Oh, yes, of course, I shall play."

"You don't sound particularly eager. Is there another card game that you prefer?"

"I do not mind playing, though I would have to admit that I prefer whist."

"Really? Whist? I find that whist is such a _boring_ game. It is for old men." Emma thought that Mrs. Chesterfield practically sneered in giving her reply. "I can't imagine anyone finding fault with Vingt et Un."

Emma was angered by Mrs. Chesterfield's condescension, and she was not about to let the lady get the better of her, so she found her voice. "Well, I do find whist entertaining, anyway. And there is nothing wrong with Vingt et Un; it's just that so many people play it as if it were a mere game of chance."

"That's because it obviously _is_ a game of chance," replied Mrs. Chesterfield, not bothering to hide her annoyance, "since you never know what card you will get next."

"Well, I suppose that is true of the first deal," Emma said calmly. She knew she might regret the insolence that was to follow, but she could not help herself. "But once any cards have been dealt from the deck, you know with certainty which cards you will _not_ get next, so though luck is still involved, the probabilities change with each card dealt, _if_ you pay attention. And then the player after you might take an extra card when the probabilities say she should _not_ have, and that card she took might have been the very 'ten' that would have put the dealer over vingt et un and made everyone a winner."

"Well, thank you for that analysis, Miss Woodhouse. I am sure I don't know how we have all managed to play the game without your keen insights." Before Emma could muster an appropriate reply, she realized that the gentlemen had walked into the parlor. She was mortified that Mr. Knightley might have heard their frosty exchange, as was made even more noticeable when Mrs. Chesterfield immediately changed her tone and said cloyingly, "My dear George, some of us are going to play Vingt et Un. Won't you join us?" As if using his Christian name wasn't bad enough, Emma winced at hearing Mrs. Chesterfield call him "my dear." Who did she think she was?

"No, thank you, Mrs. Chesterfield. I prefer whist," Mr. Knightley replied. Though Emma hid her emotions well, she could have jumped up kissed him at that moment! Moreover, she was glad he had addressed the lady formally. Mrs. Chesterfield turned away and frowned.

Mr. Laughton then addressed Emma. "Indeed, Miss Woodhouse, I have it on good authority, in the name of our good friends, the Knightley brothers, that you are quite a skilled whist player. What do you say to joining us for a foursome?"

"Oh, I'd love to. Thank you, Mr. Laughton. Do you play high-low and honors?"

"Indeed I do. And I can tell already that she is, indeed, skilled in the game, Knightley," Mr. Laughton laughed.

"Just as I said. Are you prepared to go down in defeat, Mr. Laughton?" quipped Mr. Knightley.

"Well, as I believe that Miss Woodhouse should be _my_ partner, it is you and your brother who should prepare for defeat, don't you think? And are we playing for stakes or only for honor?"

"Oh, I do not gamble, Mr. Laughton," replied Emma, "so it shall have to be for honor only. Besides, it is more difficult for a _true_ gentleman …." As she spoke, Mr. Laughton suddenly joined in with her and they concluded, in unison, "_to lose his honor than his money_."

Emma looked at Mr. Laughton with surprise and they both laughed. "I see we have both played many a game with George Knightley," he said.

"Well, I am flattered that my philosophy has been so well remembered by the two of you," said Mr. Knightley.

"Don't flatter yourself, old man. We were both just teasing you. Now, Brothers Knightley, prepare for your demise. Shall we, Miss Woodhouse?" Mr. Laughton motioned to the game table where John was already setting up the game, and the players readied themselves for the contest.

###

Mr. Preston acted as the dealer and those playing Vingt et Un engaged a lively game, laughing and calling out in amusement. The whist players were much more subdued. At the beginning, the Knightley brothers exchanged rather wicked glances at one another and then took turns trying to engage Emma in conversation. She answered their questions perfunctorily, until finally, she said pertly, "I know exactly what you are up to, gentlemen, and it will not work. You are trying to distract me, so I will lose count. But you probably do more to distract yourselves than me."

Mr. Knightley looked at his brother and said with a laugh, "The problem, John, is that we have taught her all of our ploys over the years. I knew it would come back to haunt us. And I have a terrible feeling that this particular game will not be a winning one for the Knightleys." He played a card, then Mr. Laughton did so, then John, and finally it was Emma's turn. It was Emma's card that won the trick. Mr. Laughton smiled at her and then swept the four cards that had just been played into their winning pile.

"How very insightful of you, Mr. Knightley," said Emma amiably, "as _I_ have taken that last trick. But more important, I believe the last four are mine, as well." She very deliberately laid down three of her four remaining cards, all of them spades. "As the ace and queen of spades have already been played, these three spades will force out all the rest of yours and are, therefore, winners. And then that leaves me to place _my little heart_ on the table," she said sweetly. She put down the six of hearts with a smirk.

"But I still have the queen of clubs. I might have played that last," complained John Knightley, laying down his remaining four cards, face up. Mr. Laughton and Mr. Knightley laid down their cards, as well.

"Yes, that is true, John, but perhaps you have forgotten that hearts are trump, and if I counted correctly, which I do believe I have as I look at everyone else's cards, my little heart is the thirteenth one played, so when I lead with it, it will automatically be the winner."

"Blast!" said a bemused John Knightley, "Pardon my French! You are right, George, we did teach her too well!"

Emma then turned to the host and said, "I'm sorry, Mr. Laughton; perhaps you would have preferred that we had played out the hand. Perhaps I should not have called the game. But I think my hand and yours went so well together that I simply could not resist!"

"No, no, Miss Woodhouse! I am delighted that you did. And to see the Knightley brothers brought to their knees by, as you have so cleverly said, _your little heart_! No, I would not have missed that for anything! Well done!"

"Well done, Emma," said Mr. Knightley. "You have once again shown yourself to be an adroit competitor, and it was an honor to be your opponent, though I assure you that I would _always_ rather be your partner!" The gentlemen all laughed, and Emma returned Mr. Knightley's smile gratefully, relishing his compliment.

Mrs. Chesterfield, from her vantage at the next table, listened to their conversation and glowered.

###

Mrs. Laughton, as would any good hostess, noticed that not everyone was enjoying their card playing with the same measure of enthusiasm, so she suggested that there was still plenty of time for a dance or two. They could all move back to the grand salon, and perhaps Mrs. Ames, who played so delightfully, could do the honors at the pianoforte.

As the group began to file into the long hall that led to the salon, Mrs. Chesterfield stayed back to walk with Mr. Knightley. She said in a low voice, "I can't help but notice, George, that Miss Woodhouse is certainly your pretty little pet, now isn't she?"

"She is very pretty, I'll grant you that, but she is not my 'pet,'" Mr. Knightley replied, a bit curtly.

"There is no need to be prickly. It was simply an observation."

"I apologize if my tone was abrupt. That was not my intent. But it was not an observation that I care for, Mrs. Chesterfield, nor is there any basis for it. I have known Emma for all of her life, just as her father has known me for all of mine. She is an old family friend."

"I see. Well, I would have to disagree that there is anything 'old' about Miss Woodhouse. I have had an opportunity to spend a little time with her, and she really _is_ still a child in many respects. She certainly likes to be the center of attention. You should have seen how she lectured the ladies about how to play Vingt et Un earlier. One might expect only an impertinent adolescent to do such a thing."

"I think that is not fair assessment, Mrs. Chesterfield. As I had just walked into the parlor, I heard what Emma said about that game in response to your very own comments, and I could not agree more with her views on the subject."

"Perhaps that is so, but just let me offer some unsolicited advice, George," she said. "You must not allow Miss Woodhouse to become too … reliant upon to you. It would be … inappropriate … and it will hurt her … chances, if you know what I mean." Mrs. Chesterfield was frustrated that this conversation was not going anything like she had planned. She realized she would have to devise a different tactic, and very quickly.

"Actually, I really have no idea what you mean, Mrs. Chesterfield." Mr. Knightley had become quite annoyed by now, but he kept his voice even. They had made their way to the salon, where the music and dancing had already begun, and as they entered, Mr. and Mrs. Laughton met them.

"Oh, there you two are. I was beginning to _wonder_…" said Mrs. Laughton, with a sly insinuation that Mr. Knightley found objectionable.

Mrs. Chesterfield replied sweetly to her sister, "I was just lamenting that George here has not yet asked me to dance, even though we have walked all the way down the hall together. I remember that he was always such a marvelous dancer, and here he is, debating with me, while I am at risk of being a wallflower as a result. I think it is really most unkind of him, don't you agree, Lizzy?"

"Why yes, Mr. Knightley, how unlike you not to be gallant. Surely you would not forestall the opportunity to allow my sister to exhibit her gracefulness. You know she does _adore_ dancing," Mrs. Laughton teased.

"I … I was just about to do so. Will you do me the honor of dancing with me, Mrs. Chesterfield?" Mr. Knightley asked formally, holding out his hand stiffly. The innate gentleman in him would not allow himself to do otherwise.

"Well, I would be delighted!" Mrs. Chesterfield replied, and as she took his hand, she cast a triumphant look towards the dance line, where Emma was now dancing a quadrille with Mr. Ames, whose wife was playing the pianoforte. Emma watched with disbelief as Mr. Knightley led his partner to join the line. Mr. Knightley _never_ danced … _with anyone_! He may have forgiven Mrs. Chesterfield for what she had done to him so many years ago, but did he have to be so … so …. Suddenly Emma was seized with an idea that made her head spin and her knees weaken, and she wondered momentarily if this is how ladies felt when they had the vapors and were in need of smelling salts: If Mr. Knightley's wounded heart had healed completely, as he so steadfastly maintained, and if he had left Mrs. Chesterfield's unspeakable transgression in the past, was it possible that _he could fall in love with her all over again_?


	11. Mr Knightley's Wedding

Notes and Trivia: I hope this chapter's title does not make you reach for the smelling salts. LOL! You will see references here and later in the story (as well as in JA's own text) to Isabella being Mr. Knightley's sister. That was, in fact, considered to be the case in Regency times. (I digress here, so skip this paragraph if you are not interested.) Back then, a person was considered to have the same relationship with his or her sister-in-law or brother-in-law as with his or her own sister or brother. This "rule" was long-established by the Church of England and later codified into law in the mid 1700's, as part of the laws decreeing which relatives could marry one another. (With church dispensation and a lot of money, one could get the rule waived, as monarchs sometimes did!) Thus, a woman was legally and morally prohibited from marrying her deceased husband's brother, and the same held for a man and his dead wife's sister. The rationale may have been as follows: Back then, an unmarried woman had no means of supporting herself, so it was not uncommon for an unmarried woman without resources of her own to live with her married sister and her sister's husband. But what if her sister died? Would the unmarried woman have to leave her home, possibly to be thrown out on the streets, because it would be improper for her to live with her dead sister's husband? No, her sister's husband had become her "brother," and she could continue to live with her "brother" without risking her reputation. No one should think twice about it - the arrangement was approved by law and blessed by the church. (BTW, although when Isabella and John married, Mr. Knightley and Isabella legally and morally became brother and sister, as did John and Emma, this did not change the (lack of a) relationship between Mr. Knightley and Emma.)

Thank you in advance if you have time to review.

###

_Chapter Eleven: Mr. Knightley's Wedding_

Emma and her father were sitting in their usual pew in Highbury's church. She looked about and marveled at how beautiful their little church was. There were countless candles flickering in the candelabras on the altar, in the chandeliers hanging high in the domed ceiling, and in the multitude of sconces along the walls; they were everywhere! Reflecting in the church's intricate stained glass windows, the candles' glow provided a striking contrast to the darkness of the night outside. She realized that she could not remember ever having gone to services at night, but what an absolutely beautiful sight it was!

The church was filled with their congregation's familiar faces – Mr. and Mrs. Weston, Mrs. Bates and Miss Bates, Dr. and Mrs. Perry, Mr. and Mrs. Cox and their two daughters, and countless others. Everyone smiled at her and she smiled back as their friendly glances met hers. Isabella was sitting next to her, and John was next to Isabella. She was struck by an odd feeling, because she could not even recall when they had arrived at Hartfield. Mr. Elton was standing in front of the altar, waiting patiently – for what, she did not know – before beginning the service.

"Father, why …?" she began to ask in a whisper, but he interrupted her.

"Hush, Emma, they are about to begin," Mr. Woodhouse said cheerfully.

Just then the door to the chancel opened and who should walk out, but Mr. Knightley. He was wearing a dark blue coat and a light blue vest of patterned fabric that she recognized as one she had chosen at the haberdasher's in London. He looked very handsome, Emma thought, and even in the candlelight she could tell that the vest's color brought out the blue in his eyes, just as she had said it would. Mr. Knightley looked over to her and smiled – she smiled back – then he calmly walked over and stood next to Mr. Elton, in front of the altar.

"Father," she whispered, "why is Mr. Knightley standing there with Mr. Elton? "Why does he not come sit with us?" Something continued to nag at her mind, but still she could not place it.

"Emma, my dear, what has gotten into you? That is where the groom always stands. You know that," Mr. Woodhouse replied.

"The groom? Mr. Knightley?" she managed to rasp. She felt as though all of the air had been squeezed from her lungs.

"Shush! Really, Emma…" Isabella said, but before she could complete her good-natured admonishment, the back doors to the church suddenly opened, and there stood Mrs. Chesterfield, resplendent in her brilliant blue gown and diamond and sapphire jewelry, the very ones she had worn to the Laughtons'. Emma thought to herself that it was so inappropriate to wear such a gown to church, but no one else seemed to mind; she was too gorgeous to draw any criticism, anyway. Music then began to play and it made Emma slowly look up to the balcony with great curiosity; where the church organ and choir should be, there was now an orchestra playing a quadrille. Emma remembered it as the same music that Mrs. Ames had played on the pianoforte at the Laughtons' home, when Emma had danced with Mr. Ames and Mr. Knightley had danced with … _Mrs. Chesterfield_! Emma whipped her head back around. Mrs. Chesterfield began to glide gracefully down the middle of the nave towards Mr. Knightley and the altar, while the congregation nodded their approval, keeping time with the music. Emma was frozen with horror. She could not speak, she could not breathe, she could not see through the tears that had begun to sting her eyes, as she came to a dreadful realization: How was it possible that Mr. Knightley, here, in the sight of God, and with Emma, his family and his friends as his witnesses, was going to marry … _that dreadful Mrs. Chesterfield_?

Mrs. Chesterfield reached the altar, where Mr. Knightley smiled and took her arm. Mr. Elton immediately began:

**"**_Dearly__ beloved, we are gathered together here in the sight of God, and in the face of this congregation, to join together this Man and this Woman in holy Matrimony…"_

Emma gripped the hard wood of the pew in front of her, to steady herself, until her knuckles turned white. Her mind was in a fog, and she was trying to make sense of it all. Mr. Elton droned on in his characteristic monotone until he said:

"_Therefore if any man can show any just cause, why they may not lawfully be joined …"_

Before he could finish the sentence, Emma finally found her voice. "_No_!" she screamed. A collective gasp issued from the congregation as her word echoed through the church and back; everyone turned to stare at her. "_Mr. Knightley __cannot__ marry her!_"

"Why ever not, Emma?" asked her father calmly.

"Yes, why ever not? Why ever not?" Emma heard from a dozen calm voices in the church as she looked around frantically.

"Really, Miss Woodhouse, what a spoiled child you are," Mrs. Chesterfield called out to her with derision, "always needing to have your way. But you can't have your way this time. This time _I_ will have _my_ way. You see, George loves me. He loved me years ago, and indeed, he never stopped loving me. In fact, he loves me so much that he has agreed to move to London. He will never return to Donwell or to Highbury. _You_ will never see him again. He does not need _you_, Miss Woodhouse."

"B…but Mr. Knightley, you _cannot_ marry!" she cried out to him.

"Why not, Emma?" he asked calmly. "Tell me why I should not marry."

"Yes, why not? Why ever not?" asked a dozen different tranquil voices. Emma looked around the church at the familiar faces. Her voice had left her again, but more distressing, her mind was a jumble, and she could not formulate in her head a single reason why Mr. Knightley should not marry. "Why shouldn't he marry?" someone asked. "Why shouldn't he be able to love whomever he chooses?" another called out.

"Tell me a single reason, Emma. Just one," Mr. Knightley said, this time with urgency. "Tell me just _one_ reason why I should not. _Tell_ me."

She blinked the tears from her eyes and tried to force her mind to just think of something to say: Just one reason. Tell him just one reason. Just one….

"_Because_!" she finally screamed, and she awoke from her nightmare, shivering, not from cold but from distress.

"Because," she whispered, "what would I do without you, Mr. Knightley?" She turned over and buried her face in her pillow to muffle her sobs.

###

Emma had barely slept after her nightmare. She could not stop thinking of her dream, and she tossed and turned and finally dozed off as the sun began to rise. When she awoke, she was dismayed to find that it was already nine o'clock – Father and Mrs. Winthrop would be at breakfast by now! She rang for her maid and asked Sally to beg her father and Mrs. Winthrop's pardon, but she had been rather late arriving to Manning House from the Laughtons' the night before and had not slept well. She would prefer to spend a leisurely morning in her room and would join Mrs. Winthrop later for her visiting hour. Emma looked in the mirror and was mortified to see, reflecting back at her, a drawn face with red and puffy eyes and dark circles beneath them. Thankfully, Sally had been discreet enough not to ask what the matter was.

Shortly before noon, a still-tired Emma was about to enter the parlor where she could hear Mrs. Winthrop conversing with a visitor; she did not recognize the other lady's voice. Before she entered, her mind still in a fog, she accidentally dropped one end of her shawl and as she stopped to adjust it, she overheard Mrs. Winthrop say, "Yes, my nephew is _finally_ going to get married! Isn't that _marvelous_? It has been a long time coming, and they are such a fine match. I think they will be _very_ happy. She is so lovely and so clever. And he will no longer have to live alone in my family home, and I am so glad of it. He has been in such good spirits of late and I just _knew_ something was afoot. I have never seen him so contented. And I can't _tell_ you how happy this makes me. Of course, it is still a secret. But I think they will announce their engagement very soon, perhaps before he returns to Donwell. Perhaps even at the soirée that the Cavendishes are having this evening. I almost wish I were planning to attend, but you know that my constitution does not do well if I venture out late into the evening air …."

Emma's flesh went cold and she began to shake. Her dream – her nightmare – was going to come true! Mr. Knightley was going to marry that insufferable Mrs. Chesterfield! How could he? Emma mourned that Mr. Knightley was obviously blind to what Mrs. Chesterfield had become – she was conniving and vulgar and … Suddenly Emma realized what Mrs. Chesterfield was going to become – she was going to become _Mrs. Knightley_. She would compel Mr. Knightley to move to London, and he would become an absentee landowner to Donwell - Mrs. Winthrop had just said that he would no longer have to live in her family home! Emma would only hear of him through Isabella and John, and perhaps through letters he might occasionally write to her father. Mr. Knightley would be lost to Hartfield, to her father and to … herself. She stumbled back through the hallway, barely knowing where she was going, but trying to be as quiet as she could, clutching her shawl about her tightly. She could not face Mrs. Winthrop and her guest just now. She simply could not. She must regain her composure first. She hurried around the corner towards the stairway – and ran straight into Mr. Knightley. He was the last man on earth she wanted to see at this moment; she just could not bear it.

"Oh, I'm so sorry…" She was dreadfully pale and obviously holding back tears.

He immediately grasped her arms and held her still. "Emma, what is the matter? Are you ill?" he asked with urgent concern. "You look ….."

"No. No. I'm fine," she said in a lowered voice, quickly breaking away from his grip and putting her finger to her lips to signal, "Shhh!" "I cannot …. I cannot …. Oh, please, _please_, Mr. Knightley," she whispered, "do not tell your aunt or my father that you have seen me. Let them think I am still in my room." Her voice broke as she added, "_Please_ do this for me, Mr. Knightley. I _beg_ of you." She turned and ran away on tiptoe, so she would not make any noise. It was with weighty anxiety that he watched her retreat, but he knew he must obey her wish.

###

Hidden away in her room, Emma's tears continued until she was exhausted and could weep no more. She let go of her pillow, which by now was damp with her tears for the second time in a matter of hours. She turned over and gazed wearily at the ceiling. Over and over in her mind, she heard Isabella's words, "Mr. Knightley stayed only to see to your happiness …" and Mr. Knightley's words, "Don't be ridiculous. Your insolence is maddening…" Emma realized that Mr. Knightley had spent years "seeing to her happiness," and how had she returned the good favor? By constantly being impertinent, ignoring his advice and trying his good nature. When had _she_ ever thought of _his_ happiness? Did sending him lemon biscuits or inviting him to supper whenever Cook was making his favorite, lamb stew, qualify? Hardly. Yet, she had never thought of Mr. Knightley as unhappy or as lacking anything in his life; he was a strong yet quiet man, and he always seemed so content in being the master of Donwell, in being a magistrate in the parish, and in being the paragon of their society. But did that really prove that he did not want _more_ from his life? It gave her a pang of pain to think that she had been so selfish in her dealings with him that she could not even guess his true feelings on the subject. If he _did_ want to marry, if that would truly make him _happy_, how could Emma begrudge him that? How could she not find happiness is _his_ happiness? But if he did want to marry, why did it have to be to that _horrible_ Mr. Chesterfield? And now could he fall in love and make such an important decision so quickly? They had not even been in London for a fortnight, and they had only seen that wretched woman a few times! With a knot tightening in her stomach, Emma had two revelations. First, Mr. Knightley had often gone out, on his own or with John, on errands and appointments – he might easily have been meeting with Mrs. Chesterfield! And second and more important, perhaps it was possible that Mr. Knightley had never fallen _out_ of love with her, despite her reprehensible treatment of him. Perhaps her return was the only fuel that had been needed to reignite within him a glowing fire that had been burning low for all of these years! But Emma was still unable to accept his love for _that woman_, and she could not willingly offer her congratulations, even if the lady had become, in Mr. Knightley's mind, necessary to his happiness. Then again, she knew that could not say anything to him. It was simply not her place.

But then Emma had a third revelation – one that gave her hope. Perhaps Isabella and John could talk sense into him! Surely Isabella must not know of their plans, or she would have spoken to Emma about it. Isabella cared greatly about Mr. Knightley; she was his sister, after all. Isabella, too, had heard the offensive prophecies made by Mrs. Chesterfield and her sister, and Isabella thought no more highly of Mrs. Chesterfield than did Emma; of that much, Emma was quite certain. If Emma told Isabella about their plans to marry, surely her sister would react as Emma had. Then Isabella could speak with John, who could speak with Mr. Knightley and make him see his error in judgment where Mrs. Chesterfield was concerned. Besides, John could point out how Donwell Abbey would languish if Mr. Knightley moved to London; that would surely be a persuasive point. Yes, it was a good plan, she thought to herself. She would speak to Isabella at the first opportunity; as awkward as it might be, perhaps she could even take her aside at the soirée this evening - this was a matter that simply could not wait! She was still shaken, but now that she had a plan, she felt renewed. She took a deep breath and sat up. She would hold her head high at the soirée tonight and she vowed that Mr. Knightley would never even know that anything was amiss when he gazed upon her smiling face.


	12. A Gentleman in Love

Note: The reference to William Cox is from another story, Sojourn at Donwell.

Thank you in advance if you have time to review.

_Chapter Twelve: A Gentleman in Love_

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Mr. Knightley did not see Emma again until that evening, when he returned to Manning House to take her to the soirée at the Cavendishes', which was to be Emma's last evening outing while she was in London. She was transformed. Gone were the mysterious teary eyes and shaky voice he had witnessed this afternoon. Now her eyes sparkled and her smile was bright. Her gown was a delightful confection consisting of an overdress of shimmery, translucent peach silk, edged in delicate lace, under which layers of fine off-white silk created an ethereal effect. She was the picture of loveliness. Whatever had happened earlier in the day to upset her so had now been set aside.

As Emma sat across from him in the carriage that was taking them to the Cavendishes', Mr. Knightley watched Emma circumspectly while she looked happily out the window. The gown she had worn to Almack's had been breathtaking, but it had given a distinct impression that she was ... well, _worldly_. In fact, he was ashamed to admit that upon his first view of her in it, decidedly improper thoughts had whisked through his mind, which he had had to struggle to banish. Tonight she had a different look – one of youthful innocence and purity – a definite contrast to the gown she had worn to Almack's – but he thought he preferred her appearance this evening, as it reflected everything that was superior, brilliant and worthy in his dear Emma. He stopped himself. She was not _his_ Emma, and never would be, he thought ruefully. But how had it happened that she had become _necessary_ to his happiness? How had he _let_ it happen? How was it that, when he had seen her engaged in conversation with that despicable rake, Byron, at the symphony, he had instantly felt a fury that was nothing akin to what a brother or a friend would feel? He must judge it for what it was: it had been, pure and simple, abject jealously, and he had been helpless to stop it. And when he and Emma had argued over it, her words had cut him to his very core; her fiery soul had made sure of that. He wasn't sure if he loved her in spite of, or all the more because of, her impetuous personality. But her apology had been sincere, laced with the humor that Emma was constantly entwining into their exchanges – a special humor that sometimes only the two of them understood and appreciated. He would never be able to be angry with her for long, he mused. To him, she was perfect in spite of her perfections.

After the carriage had made a turn, Emma asked, "Mr. Knightley, I thought John said the Cavendishes lived near King Street – isn't that to the left? Are we going in the proper direction?"

"You are right. The turn to King Street was to the left. But we are not going to the Cavendishes just yet." He looked across the carriage at her, studying her expression, though he was not sure what he was looking for. "I hope you do not mind, but I've told James to drive us through Hyde Park first, until I signal him. I needed to speak with you, Emma, in private, so I hope you don't mind." He paused to see if she registered any concern. In an instant Emma realized that he was going to tell her about his engagement, but she refused to let her emotions show, so she quickly turned her head and said nothing. He continued, "Earlier today, something upset you dreadfully, and now this evening, you look, well, as lovely as I have ever seen you. But I know you, Emma. I know you like a book – one that I've read a thousand times – and you cannot fool me with your pleasantries and your finery. Something happened, and I am worried about you. Won't you please tell me what it is, at least to put my mind at ease?"

She was silent for quite a long time, staring out the carriage window. This was not at all how she had expected the evening to begin. She was supposed to be cheerful and charming. She was not supposed to think about what had kept her up for most of last night and had occupied her thoughts for much of the day. She had vowed that she would not think of it again until she spoke with Isabella, and she was frightened by the feeling of panic that threatened to overtake her again. Twice she had started to speak, but then stopped because the huge lump in her throat made it impossible to get any words out. She willed her voice to be steady when she finally spoke. "Mr. Knightley, I was in a very foul mood earlier, and I behaved very badly. I was wrong to cause you any distress and for that, I am sorry. I hope you will forgive me."

He was not taken in. "Forgive you for what? You were clearly upset. That is what I wished to speak with you about." She bit her lower lip and remained silent, so he implored her again, "Emma? _Please_…won't you be honest with me …"

This was not her plan. _He_ was obvously not going to admit to his engagement to that wicked woman, but how could she tell him that she already knew? Then again, she thought, how can I not? This is my own dear Mr. Knightley, and as much as I want him to be happy, how can I _not_ tell him, honestly, that I fear that his plans will turn out badly, and that I veritably _fear_ for his happiness? "Very well. I will tell you. I will be honest. Mr. Knightley, please let me begin by saying I will always wish you every happiness." Emma paused, struggling with her next words, trying to keep her voice from breaking. "We have been friends for a long time, have we not? We are … old friends? Friends who can speak openly with one another, right?"

Mr. Knightley vowed to be patient and let her proceed at her own pace. "Of course … yes, we can speak openly. You can tell me anything you like, dear Emma. I will keep your confidence, you know that I will. I have always done so in that past, have I not? And I do not mean to pry. I just want to be sure that you ... are well. But you seem to be speaking in riddles this evening."

She turned away from him and looked out the window again. She lifted her head up high and deliberately blinked her eyes several times, hoping to keep the tears that had begun to well in them from falling down her face. "I… I am sorry." She was at the edge of a precipice now, and she did not know what she would find over the edge. She could stop and retreat – she could make up a story about some nonsensical episode that had upset her, silly girl that she was. Or she could be honest and take a step forward – into what, she could not foresee. She took a deep breath to steady her voice once more, and plunged.

"What I am saying is, well …. Mr. Knightley, suppose, just for example, suppose that … I had met someone … and then suppose that I had decided that person was the one I wanted to … to …." She paused and closed her eyes, searching the recesses of her memory to find the very words he had used at Almack's last week – for some reason, they had affected her so profoundly at the time – and then she remembered them. She could not keep her voice from trembling as she recited them exactly, "Suppose I wished for that person's face to be the first thing I saw every morning and the last thing I saw every night. Would you want to know about it? Would you want me tell you, so you would not be surprised to hear of it … sometime later … or from someone else?"

This time it was Mr. Knightley who formed a lump in his throat. His mind raced. He remembered how distressed he had been earlier in the year when he had so wrongly thought she had formed an attachment to William Cox. And then he thought back on their stay in London … was it possible that she had fallen in love, under his very eyes, while he had been oblivious to it? Surely not with Mr. Tuttle? Good heavens, _not Lord Byron_? Unable to prevent the bitter anger that momentarily overcame him, he said to himself, as God is my witness, I will not allow it. "Yes, Emma," he managed to utter, but he could not hide the emotion that laced his words. "I would want to know."

She turned slowly to look at him, and he was stunned to see tears falling down her face. Not in a thousand years could he have foretold her next words: "Then why did _you_ not tell _me_?"

"_Me_? Tell _you_? Tell you _what_, Emma?"

"Tell me that you are going to _marry_ … _Mrs. Chesterfield_! I think she is _dreadful_! There! I've said it! She will make you move to London and I shall … shall never see you again!" she cried, and then she turned away again and wept openly.

Mr. Knightley instantly crossed the small space between them in the carriage and sat next to her. "Mrs. Chesterfield? Who told you that? I am not about to marry Mrs. Chesterfield, Emma! Nor will I ever move to London!" he said urgently, over her shoulder. "Emma, something is seriously amiss here. Look at me." When she would not move, he gently placed his hands on her shoulders, and turned her to face him. Still she would not meet his gaze as she sobbed, so he put a hand beneath her chin and raised it so their eyes met, inches apart. It pained him to see the tears glistening in her eyes and then falling down her soft cheeks, and it took every bit of strength within him to resist the urge to lean over those few inches and each one of kiss them away. He softened his voice and said to her, "Dear Emma, look at me. Listen to me. I am _not_ going to marry Mrs. Chesterfield. Nothing could be further from my mind." How could I ever _think_ of marrying Mrs. Chesterfield when I am in love with you, he wanted to add, but she herself had just reiterated all that their relationship meant to her: they were simply "old friends." He forced himself to release her, then retreated to a safe distance. He reached into his vest pocket and held out to her his neatly folded handkerchief.

"You … you …. are not?" she blinked her eyes and sniffled, her face filled with confusion, trying to comprehend this wonderful twist that his words implied. She took the handkerchief gratefully, still sniffling and looking at him with angst.

"Absolutely not. That thought has not crossed my mind, and it never will. I assure you. What was once between us died years ago. She was never the right woman for me, and the person she has become makes her even less so. Why on earth would you think so, Emma? Was it just because I shared a bit of conversation with her?"

"Oh, Mr. Knightley, I cannot tell you how relieved I am to hear this, b…b…but," she paused and sniffled, "_she_ thinks so. And so does your aunt." Emma looked at him directly, to gauge his reaction.

"_What_? How could that be? Upon my word as a gentleman, I am certain that I have said and done _nothing_ that would lead Mrs. Chesterfield to believe so. And as to my aunt … heaven help me … I don't know what to say…." Emma continued to sniffle as she sat, wide-eyed and speechless. "Emma, you must tell me the circumstances behind this revelation. What has transpired to lead you to this conclusion?"

"Mrs. Chesterfield … sh…sh…she said so herself. Or she certainly intimated it at the Laughtons' last night, when the ladies were gathered after supper. Oh, Mr. Knightley, you will think me the worst kind of gossip when I tell you this, but she said that she wanted to marry again, and that she was making _you_ her '_project_,' she called it. She and her sister said that she could make you fall in love with her; she could make any man fall in love with her. And she said that she did not want Donwell Abbey but she wanted … she wanted … she wanted the _master_ of Donwell. You can ask Isabella. She was there. Isabella heard it, too, and she was as appalled as I was. And then you _danced_ with her that night, and you never dance ... with anyone! And then, this morning, I overheard your aunt and she said it too! I wasn't eavesdropping, I assure you, but I heard her say, plain as day, that you were going to marry and she hoped the two of you will announce your engagement before you return to Donwell - and we leave in just a few day's time! Hearing your aunt speak thusly made me _certain_ that Mrs. Chesterfield had already achieved her _wretched_ goal." Emma did not hide her contempt. "So that is why I was upset this morning, and why I could not tell you anything. I thought that you were going to marry Mrs. Chesterfield, and I thought perhaps you had told everyone except _me_. I will say to you that I am so very happy and relieved that you have no such plans, Mr. Knightley, but I am also so confused by what I have heard."

"As am I, Emma. If Mrs. Chesterfield does have that idea, and if she has communicated that to others … even to my aunt … and who knows who else … then that is very serious, indeed, and I am duty bound to stop this outrageous rumor at once. I cannot take it lightly."

"Wh … wh … what will you do, Mr. Knightley?" Her face was filled with worry.

"I'm sure I don't know yet. But I'll think of something. I will just have to speak to Mrs. Chesterfield and to my aunt, to clear everything up, awkward though it may be. Perhaps I can speak to Mrs. Chesterfield tonight, at the Cavendishes, if I can do so without anyone's notice. And I'll be at Manning House tomorrow afternoon, so I suppose I shall have to speak with my aunt then." He paused for a long time, as if trying to weigh the consequences of this news and his contemplated actions. Wretched gossip! he thoughtto himself. But he had no choice. "Emma, please don't you worry about it anymore. Everything will be alright. Right now, all you need to worry about is drying those tears. How can you be the belle of the ball, as you were at Almack's, if your eyes are red and teary? They will clash with your lovely dress," he added, trying to interject a bit of levity into this somber conversation.

Emma tried to smile. "Oh Mr. Knightley. I don't know if I can go to the soirée now. You must think I look ridiculous. You must think I _am_ ridiculous."

"Not at all, Emma. I am grateful to you for being honest with me. It must have been difficult for you to tell me this … news."

"Well, this afternoon, I vowed that …. that I must think of your happiness first. I was not going to say anything to you at all. But then you reminded me, and well, I'm afraid that I just lost my composure, to put it mildly. I must look absolutely frightful. Thank you for your handkerchief, by the way," she said, holding up what now looked like a crumpled rag. Emma kept sniffling, delicately touching a corner of the handkerchief to her nose and trying to be dainty as she tried to compose herself and wait for her tears to dry and her nose to stop running. The bit of powder she had placed on her nose so it would not shine was long gone, but she was glad that she did not use rouges and other potions on her face, or by now they would have melted into an unsightly mess.

She continued to sniffle and finally Mr. Knightley said, lightly, "For heaven's sake, dear Emma, you really need to just go ahead and blow your nose." She nodded and did so, loudly, and it came out almost as a honk, really, and they both could not help but laugh.

"I'm sorry. That wasn't very lady-like was it?" she said, as the tension drained from her face and she laughed.

"That's alright, Emma. I am glad to see you laugh. You never look prettier to me than when you laugh."


	13. 13 Disclosure and Concealment

Notes: The is the first of two chapters posted on June 18th, and the second to last chapter in this story. There will also be an Epilogue, however! There are more references to the story called Sojourn at Donwell.

If you have time to review, thank you in advance.

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Chapter Thirteen: Disclosure and Concealment at the Soirée

Emma and Mr. Knightley arrived over an hour late to the soirée at the Cavandishes', with Emma's countenance still looking decidedly withdrawn and Mr. Knightley's looking decidedly troubled. Isabella met them as soon as they entered and exclaimed, "Emma! Thank goodness you have arrived! I was so worried about you! What took you so long to get here? George, you left our house an hour before we did! Is everything all right? Emma, is something wrong? Good heavens, you haven't been crying, have you, my dear?"

Emma looked quickly at Mr. Knightley and responded with feigned cheerfulness, "Oh, no, Isabella! Silly me, I got an eyelash in my eye just we were about to leave. I'm afraid it took me _forever_ to get it out." Emma hoped Mr. Knightley would not mind her little white lie and that neither Mrs. Winthrop nor her father would give her away later.

"Oh, that is awful. But we're just glad you're here now. I am such a worry wart, aren't I? And speaking of being worried," here Isabella lowered her voice, "George, Mrs. Chesterfield is here this evening and she was inquiring of me as to your whereabouts. I don't know if Emma has told you about what we know of Mrs. Chesterfield…" Isabella she looked at Emma, who looked down and shook her head, "No." Emma was chagrined at telling another lie, and she wondered what Mr. Knightley must be thinking of her, but she wanted to know what Isabella had to say, and she wanted Mr. Knightley to hear it directly. "Well, George, I hope you do not take offense if I say to you that Emma and I have it on a certain authority that you may not be entirely safe from conquest by Mrs. Chesterfield's charms if you are not careful, that authority being Mrs. Chesterfield herself. I don't know your opinion of her, and you may think I am meddling, but as I am your sister, I will speak my mind on the subject. She is an elegant woman and she is quite amiable, I will grant you that, but I can say to you with conviction she is anything _but_ sincere. I am quite certain she would never make you happy, and I suspect that Donwell Abbey would not thrive with her as its mistress. You can take my warning as you will."

Emma was impressed that her sister had so forcefully yet so agreeably made known her opinion of Mrs. Chesterfield and her intentions. Emma was ashamed of her own reaction in front of Mr. Knightley – she had actually disparaged Mrs. Chesterfield and had wept like a spoiled child! If only _I_ had been so refined, Emma thought to herself.

"Well, Isabella, I thank you for letting me know. Let me put your mind at ease by assuring you that there is nothing that Mrs. Chesterfield could say or offer that would be of any interest to me. Rest assured that Donwell Abbey and I are safe."

"I am glad to hear it, George. You _have_ put my mind at ease. And Emma, Mr. Tuttle is here, as well, so it looks like _you_ might not be entirely safe," Isabella added with a smile, knowingly full well that Emma was not at risk. "Perhaps you and George should look out for one another, and endeavor to extricate each other from undesirable entanglements!"

Emma replied lightheartedly, "I declare, Mr. Knightley, is there anything so annoying as having someone in love with you when you do not share that sentiment?"

Her words, spoken so innocently, struck Mr. Knightley painfully, but he smiled and said, "No, I don't suppose there is, Emma." If she only knew the import of her words, he said to himself.

###

All things considered, Emma thought, it was a very lovely party. It hadn't taken Mr. Tuttle long to find Emma, but fortunately he did not insist on more than the socially acceptable limit of two dances. She noticed with relief that his enthusiastic attentions towards her seemed to have cooled at least a little; perhaps he had finally taken notice of her failure to respond in kind. In any event, there was any number of other agreeable young gentlemen willing to escort her to the dance floor.

Supper was served at the typically late hour for a soirée, and Emma rendezvoused with Isabella, John and Mr. Knightley at the appointed time, as they had all agreed to dine together. As Emma and Mr. Knightley wandered through the sumptuous buffet, she asked surreptitiously, "How goes your plan for the evening?"

"Not so well. I can't seem to manage a few quiet minutes with … a certain lady. I don't want to be _too_ obvious about it."

"Well, she is very _popular_, I'll grant you that," Emma said in a somewhat harsh tone.

"No need to be uncharitable, Emma."

"Right you are, Mr. Knightley," she said. "I apologize if I was … indiscreet. But at least I can report that I was able to get through my obligatory two dances with Mr. Tuttle early in the evening."

"So I noticed."

"Hmmm, did you now?"

"I did, indeed. It was difficult _not_ to notice how much he looked like a hopelessly forlorn urchin when he handed you to dance with your next partner."

"And now _who_ is being uncharitable, Mr. Knightley?" They both laughed at her retort. "Perhaps you should ask her to dance?" Emma then suggested.

'No," he responded quickly. "You know that I do not dance, except when my honor forces me to do so. I do not enjoy it and I am not good at it."

"Pity," said Emma, mischievously. "You might have asked _me_ to dance next."

"Oh, so you would wish to torture me by making me dance when I do not enjoy it, Emma?" he said, laughingly. It _would_ be torture to dance with her, he thought to himself, as one dance, holding her lithe body close to his and looking into her beautiful eyes, be might all that was needed to make his feelings for her known to the entire world.

###

The hour was growing late, and Mr. Knightley had yet to address Mrs. Chesterfield on that most personal subject matter. As luck would have it, he saw her alone for a brief moment, drinking a glass of champagne. She was looking at him, so he smiled and approached her.

"Well, we've hardly had a moment to ourselves to talk this evening, now have we, George?" Mrs. Chesterfield said sweetly.

"No, I suppose not. It has been a very enjoyable soirée, though, hasn't it? And perhaps we can talk now?" he replied.

"Why yes, I think that would be a splendid idea. Actually, I was wondering if we might speak with one another, _alone_, for a few minutes. The library is just down the hall. It might be a cozy spot for us."

Mr. Knightley was surprised by her forwardness and wondered what her plan might be, but the timing of her entreaty was actually fortuitous, as he had a duty to fulfill and he was running out of time. "I think that would be a very good idea," he said, as casually as he could muster. She flashed a beautiful smile, then walked nonchalantly towards one of the doors to the hallway. Before following her, he looked about and immediately spotted Emma, who was watching him from across the room as she danced. Just before she turned, their eyes met, and she gave him a little smile and nodded her head, as if to say, "Good luck." He took a deep breath and walked through the doorway that Mrs. Chesterfield had passed through moments before.

###

In the library Mrs. Chesterfield sat down upon a divan that was set at an angle to the room's ornate fireplace, patted the seat next to her and said demurely, "Please do sit down. It's so much cozier here." Mr. Knightley hesitated but then sat down as she had requested, though on the farthest edge of the divan.

"Lovely, party, don't you think?" Mrs. Chesterfield said.

"Yes, very nice indeed." He said uncomfortably. An awkward silence reigned between them.

Finally, she said cheerfully, "Well, no sense beating around the bush, as they say. Mrs. Knightley, Mrs. _John_ Knightley, was telling me earlier that you plan to leave London soon. That is such a pity. We might have enjoyed spending more time in each other's company, as we used to do, had we been given the opportunity. So … I wanted to tell you, George, that I have decided that I ought to take a trip to the countryside. I have been told that Surrey is lovely in the fall. What do you think?"

"I think you should go if it would please you. Surrey is lovely in the fall, that is true."

"Then let me be straightforward with you. I hate having to be so coy all the time. You know, George, that when I _really_ put my mind to it, I can get whatever I want."

Mr. Knightley was put off by her salacious tone. "That might seem to be your history, Mrs. Chesterfield. But let me be straightforward, as well. If Donwell Abbey is what you want, I do not think you would enjoy a visit to Surrey."

"Ah, I see that you have tried to read my mind. But I don't want Donwell Abbey, George. In that respect, I have not changed." Mrs. Chesterfield paused, looking him directly, "I might be willing to visit Donwell Abbey on rare occasion, but that is not want I want. What I really want is _you_. And, in the further interest of being straightforward, let me add that marriage vows are not a necessary precondition to what I want. That can come, in time. I am sure you understand my meaning, so now, why don't we drop the formality? You ought to call me by that little pet name you had for me, as you used to do."

Though Mr. Knightley was immediately repulsed by her, he also felt a certain degree of pity for her. "Mrs. Chesterfield – for that is what I must always call you – you cannot be more to me – this plan of yours does not become you, and you deserve better. I am sorry to disappoint you, but I think … I think it would be best if we were to just part now, as old friends, and leave it at that. Let's forget that we ever had this conversation."

She was quiet for a time, then she let out a sigh and said, without malice, "Well, I understand. I had thought it best to be frank with you. You'll recall that I am impatient; I am one who likes to get _what_ I want _when_ I want it, and if I don't, I am inclined to move on without delay. You will recognize this as another respect in which I have not changed a bit over the years: The last time that _you_ couldn't give me what I wanted when I wanted it, I simply had to make other plans. Hmmm, I suppose I shall have to do the same again now. You know, I must admit that I am not surprised at your response. I am disappointed, that's true, but I thought it worth an attempt, and since you will be leaving London soon, I decided to act forthwith. You are _still_ a gentleman worth pursuing, George, and it is a wonder to me how your bachelorhood has survived for all of these years. But then again, you've kept yourself exiled at Donwell Abbey and its environs, haven't you? Besides, I suppose I should have known that you could not fall in love with me again when you are in love with someone else."

"Someone else? I'm sure I don't know what you are talking about." He looked away from her, towards the fire, because he needed to hide his discomfiture.

Mrs. Chesterfield's smile was kindly. "Oh, I'm sure you do. You see, over the years, I have come to learn that there is a certain way that a man looks at a woman when he is hopelessly in love with her. In fact, he can't _not_ look at her, when he thinks she is not looking, and when he thinks no one else is looking. But it is impossible for him to hide what that certain look reveals: passion and pride, contentment and caring. It reveals that he is amused by her and amazed by her. It is as though he cannot believe anything so beautiful and so perfect can exist in his world. I don't know if you _ever_ looked at _me_ that way. But don't worry. Your secret is safe with me." She reached out and gently put her hand on his. "I wish you nothing but the best."

"Mrs. Chesterfield, really, I … I…," he stammered.

"No, please don't say anything more," she interrupted him. "As you said, let's just part as old friends. Goodbye, _Mr. Knightley_," she said. She got up quickly, so quickly that he barely had a chance to stand up as she departed, as a gentleman must always do. He did not speak – he would not have found the words had he tried – nor did he try to stop her. After she left, he sat back down, dumbfounded, and dropped his head into his hands.

###

Mrs. Chesterfield stopped in the hallway after she closed the door to the library behind her. She took a deep breath and smiled. She was resilient. She'd been dealt a setback, but she was always ready to move on without delay. No use crying over spilt milk. In fact, she realized, London was simply not the place for her. It was not vibrant enough for her tastes and the fashions were utterly deplorable. Everyone was so staid and the weather was absolutely abysmal. No, perhaps Paris this time. Now that Bonaparte was safely locked away on Elba, she'd heard it had become a lively and amusing destination once again.

She walked gracefully back to the salon, her sophisticated look revealing nothing of what had transpired with Mr. Knightley just minutes earlier. She was relieved to have spotted Emma almost immediately. "Miss Woodhouse, I am glad I found you," she said to her in a low voice, so that no one else could hear. "Mr. Knightley is in the library. He asked if you could join him there. It's down that hall, second door on the left." She looked at Emma with a smile that almost seemed … sincere.

Emma was taken by surprise, but she managed to mutter, "Mr. Knightley did? Oh, well, then, thank you, Mrs. Chesterfield."

"Good bye, Miss Woodhouse. It was a pleasure to have met you. I wish you every happiness."

"Th … thank you, Mrs. Chesterfield. And you, as well," she replied carefully. She suspected there was a double meaning in Mrs. Chesterfield's words, but she could not discern what it might be. Emma watched Mrs. Chesterfield walk away with great poise, then she looked apprehensively down the hall. Why did Mr. Knightley wish to see her in private? What had just occurred between Mrs. Chesterfield and him? Mrs. Chesterfield did not seem upset in the least. In fact, she seemed quite … content. Good heavens, had she succeeded in using her singular feminine wiles to make Mr. Knightley acquiesce to her desires? Emma's her heart raced as left the salon and forced herself to move down the hall to the library.

###

Mr. Knightley stared at the glowing fire. He had struggled with his feelings for Emma for months now, ever since that snowstorm had kept her at Donwell for several days just before last Christmas. Last December, she brightened every snowy day and had made the most mundane occurrences seem unbelievably bright. He remembered how she had entranced his staff with her musical talents, as she had done for several years now. He remembered how she had delighted him with her clever story about Donwell's history; her humor and creativity were unparalleled. He remembered how lovely she'd looked with her hair falling down about her shoulders and when she'd tried on that revealing gown from Donwell's wardrobe room. And he remembered how innocent and fresh her face had looked, though no siren's body could be more enticing, on that last morning when he'd awakened her. He could not believe how at home she had looked there; so at home, in fact, she might have been the mistress of Donwell Abbey, if only …

Then he thought about their stay in London. He'd been to this city a thousand times before – he'd lived here for a time – yet never had he known a fortnight filled with such happiness. Vignettes now raced through his mind: Emma's delight at holding their little niece, Emma, in her arms for the first time; her patient attentiveness towards his idiosyncratic aunt; her playfulness with their nephews and him at the zoo and in Regent's Park; her ravishing looks, which had left him speechless, that evening at Almack's; the calm bliss that was evident on her face whenever she immersed herself in playing her violin; the contentment and pride he had felt as he had escorted her about the town, through Saville Row, and down Oxford Street to Mirvat's; and even the surprising covetousness he had briefly experienced when he had seen her at the symphony with Lord Byron, causing him to bristle at the man's lascivious smile as he had menacingly leaned his head in towards hers …

And every day between last December and their trip to London? Well, perhaps he could now admit to himself that his step might be a little quicker when he was venturing to Hartfield and he knew he would see her there, and that his heart might beat a little faster when he unexpectedly met her in Highbury and she offered him that incomparable smile of hers, evidence that she was happy to see him, too. He realized that even during the times when she drove him mad with her cheekiness, she drove him mad, in a different way, with her loveliness. He had not been willing to admit the depth of his feelings for Emma, even to himself, but had he really been so unknowingly transparent, as least to Mrs. Chesterfield? It must be so, as everything Mrs. Chesterfield had said rang true. He knew then, without a doubt, what he what he must do:

_Nothing_.

He knew well that Emma did not – could not – return his feelings. To her, he would always be the same Mr. Knightley who had rescued her from a old oak tree, when she had so bravely climbed up, up, up, but found she was not so brave on the way down; the same Mr. Knightley who had regularly admonished her to practice her violin and had given her a simple "well done" rather than a shower of compliments (as had her father and the then-Miss Taylor), the first time she had played a Beethoven sonata to perfection; and the same Mr. Knightley who had kept her company, playing backgammon and reading Shakespeare, on those innumerable dreary winter nights when her father had fallen asleep by the fire. Emma did not want him to marry Mrs. Chesterfield, not because she, herself, harbored anything more than _filial_ love for him, but simply because she disliked Mrs. Chesterfield and she saw no need for things to change where she, herself, was concerned. He was a fixture in her life, as comfortable as a favorite old chair, and as endearing as a fairy tale she never tired of hearing. But that was all he was to her.

Until recently, her fondness for him had been enough for him, and he supposed there was no reason it should not continue to be so. If only he could be certain that Emma would keep her resolve never to marry, they might simply carry on as they were now, two old friends comfortably tied together by habit, proximity, mutual family and innocent affection. He'd rather have Emma on those terms than not at all, because if he tried to change those terms, surely she would reject him and "not at all" would become the fate of their relationship. "Is there anything so annoying as having someone in love with you when you do not share that sentiment?" Those had been her very words, spoken but a few hours ago. It would not do. At least, he thought hopefully, Highbury was not known to often receive visitors who might tempt Emma to stray from his plan that she remain unattached.

###

Emma's hand trembled as she turned the knob on the door to the library, and the door creaked as she slowly opened it. Mr. Knightley was startled from his thoughts by the sound, and when he saw who it was, he sprang up and, willing his voice to sound cheerful, said, "Emma! I was just about to go looking for you, to make sure you hadn't eloped with Mr. Tuttle to some part of England where cows are outlawed, or some such thing." He moved toward her.

Emma was still apprehensive, but she laughed, though half-heartedly. "No, as you know, I remain quite immune to Mr. Tuttle's charms, and I could never live far from a little cow or two," she said as she met him half way across the room. Cautiously, she asked, "Is … is everything alright, then … with you and Mrs. Chesterfield, I mean?"

He smiled. "Yes, everything is fine. There are no misunderstandings. Everything is quite clear between us. I do not think our paths will cross again. Ever."

Emma closed her eyes briefly and put her hand to her heart, willing it to slow from its breakneck pace. In that moment, she wanted more than anything to wrap her arms around his broad shoulders and gently place her cheek next to his, and then tell him how much she needed him and that his friendship and approval were such an important part of her life. But she could not. She knew that he would not understand and he would not approve. Mr. Knightley was never demonstrative, and he might think her frivolous in showing her emotions – heaven knows she had already embarrassed herself this evening in that regard – and it might do harm to their friendship. No, it would have to be enough for them to go on as they were.

Mr. Knightley watched her close her eyes briefly and put her hand to her heart. In that moment, he wanted more than anything to wrap her in his arms and kiss her tender lips until they were swollen with his passion and she was breathless but begged for more, and then tell her how much he needed her and that her love and approval were the most important things in his life. But he could not. He knew that she did not return those feelings. To her, he was still just a protective older brother with no greater claim on her heart, and demonstrating the manner of his love would irreparably harm their friendship. No, it would have to be enough for them to go on as they were.

Emma opened her eyes and they smiled at each other weakly. Mr. Knightley held out his hand to her. "Well, then, let's return to the party, shall we?"

She slowly took her hand from her heart and placed it in his outstretched hand. "Yes, let's."


	14. 14 Mrs Winthrop's View

Note: This is the second of two chapters posted on June 18th, and the last chapter in this story. I will post an Epilogue soon, in which I will tie up a few loose ends.

If you have time to review, thank you in advance.

###

_Chapter Fourteen: The View From Mrs. Winthrop's Window_

As they left the library, though Emma was curious, she decided it was not her place to inquire into the details of Mr. Knightley's conversation with Mrs. Chesterfield. The outcome was as she had hoped it would be, and she would leave it at that. But then she remembered something: "Wait, what about your aunt? How will you go about correcting her understanding of the situation?"

"I have given it some thought, and I will simply have to speak with her about it. It is not something I look forward to, but I see no alternative. I must put an end to this wicked rumor, so I will have to broach the subject with her before we return to Hartfield."

"I understand. But we leave so soon…."

"Don't you worry over it, Emma. I will see to it when I come to Manning House tomorrow. As you know, John, Isabella and I are invited for supper, so I thought I might come early, on my own, so I can find a moment to speak with Aunt Catherine alone."

"I think that is a good plan," Emma said, though she was still wary.

###

The next afternoon, Emma anxiously awaited Mr. Knightley's arrival at Manning House. She mused that the last time she had been equally impatient for his arrival – the day he had taken her to see the Elgin Marbles – Mrs. Chesterfield had also been the cause of her impatience. In this case, it was imperative that Emma speak with him, _alone_, before he saw his aunt. Fortunately, her father was dozing in the cozy parlor in which a fire was continually kept burning, and Mrs. Winthrop was upstairs in her sewing room, probably dozing as well, so they could not witness Emma's obvious apprehension and inquire about it. Fortunately, the servants pretended not to notice her peculiar behavior.

She had passed through the front hall for what seemed like the hundredth time when she finally saw Bessie trot up to the front stoop and heard Mr. Knightley address the stable boy who took the reins. Emma parked herself in the doorway to the hall and the moment he entered, she whispered, "Psst! Mr. Knightley!" He handed his hat to the servant and looked over to her. She put her finger to her lips to signal that he must be quiet and motioned for him to come to her. Her curious manner generated an inquisitive look on his face, and he smiled at her as he crossed the entry and followed her into the hall.

"Come with me," she whispered, and she took his hand and led him down the hall and through the door at the end, which led to Manning House's small garden. Once outside, she said, "Good afternoon, Mr. Knightley, I wanted to speak with you privately before you speak with your aunt about … well, you know … a particular matter involving your _status_, shall we say. I brought you out here because I wanted to be sure that no one will hear us. I have news for you, and I think you will like it _very_ much." Emma was practically beaming.

Her smile was contagious, and Mr. Knightley could not help but grin as he looked at her expectantly, and said, "Very well, Emma, I am anxious to hear it. Of what nature is this news?"

"The very best! Isabella has saved the day!" When he looked at her questioningly, she continued, her excitement practically making her sentences run together. "I am sure you know that Isabella visited here with baby Emma this morning. Well, while she was visiting, your aunt asked us to tell her about the soirée last night – who was there, what were they wearing, what did the Cavendishes serve at supper, and the like. Of course, Isabella and I were delighted to entertain her with such news. I happened to remark that Mrs. Chesterfield was there, and Isabella actually told your aunt everything we had heard from Mrs. Chesterfield and Mrs. Laughton about Mrs. Chesterfield's … intentions towards you … at dinner the other evening! I have to say, your aunt was as appalled as Isabella and I were! And then – oh! I hope you will not mind! – Isabella told your aunt about her conversation with you last night, in which you assured us that Mrs. Chesterfield would never have any claim on you. I know that you must be shocked at this ladies' gossip, and I will tell you that at first I was surprised that Isabella had been so thorough in her disclosure, but then I realized it has helped your cause immensely! You see, your aunt then said that she had once thought that Mrs. Chesterfield was a fine lady, but based on Isabella's revelations, she had changed her mind completely. I will paraphrase politely and tell you that she said she did not think the Mrs. Chesterfield was a good sort of person at all, and certainly not one that she would want _any_ of her family to associate with. She said, in a most particular fashion, that she was so happy, though _not_ surprised, that _you_ had _not_ been affected by her ruse! And your aunt said that _I_ must have been particularly appalled, and I let her know that _I_ had had certain uneasy feeling about the lady from that first night I met her at the Prestons', but of course, I, too, was glad of the outcome." Finally Emma took a breath, with a smiling Mr. Knightley still following her soliloquy, and she continued, "So you see, your aunt does _not_ want a match between you and Mrs. Chesterfield, and she surely is no longer expecting any announcement between the two you before we leave London! Now you need not say anything at all to her, don't you agree? And, to be honest with you, I am so glad that she does not have to find out that I overheard her conversation the other day – I would not want her to think that I was eavesdropping!"

Mr. Knightley could not believe his good fortune. "My goodness, Emma, you are the source of excellent news! Excellent news indeed!" Mr. Knightley took Emma's hand instinctively, wanting to share his relief with her. "As unfortunate as I was to have been the subject of Mrs. Chesterfield's plan, at least I have escaped unscathed!" he laughed. "And whatever was your part in its undoing, please accept my sincere thanks."

"Oh Mr. Knightley, I have done nothing, and I do not deserve your thanks. And I am as happy as you, let me assure you." She giggled and said, "I must admit that I had dreadful visions of you marrying Mrs. Chesterfield and abandoning Donwell for London, never to return! I imagined you as equally lost to Highbury and Hartfield completely!"

He then took her other hand in his, as well, and looked down at them, covered by his, for a moment before speaking. "Well, Highbury and Hartfield won't be rid of me yet. Though I know that _you_ may sometimes wish it were so!" he said teasingly.

"Me? Never! Well, _mostly_ never," she laughed, teasing him back.

"Well, in any event," he replied, "I think we should celebrate. Tomorrow is your last day in London, Emma. How would you like to spend it? We can do anything you'd like. Your wish shall be my command! And tell me, will you miss this grand metropolis very much after we've returned home?"

"It is, indeed, a grand metropolis, Mr. Knightley, and I am indebted toyou for making our visit possible. But I do not really think I will miss London at all. It is Hartfield that I miss, very much, and I can honestly say that am looking forward to going home. I must be more like Father in that regard than I ever realized! And as for what I would most like to do tomorrow, would you mind terribly if we simply spent the day with Isabella and John and the children? I think that is what I would most like us to do on our last day in London."

"Hmmm, yes, Emma. That is exactly how I would wish to spend our last day, as well. Come, then, and let us see if we can convince your father and my aunt to join us."

###

As she peeked out from behind the drapery in the window of her sewing room on the second floor, Mrs. Winthrop smiled as she watched Mr. Knightley and Emma in the garden, engaged in an intimate conversation. She saw her nephew take the young lady's hands and laugh. They were both clearly very happy, almost giddy, she thought. She could not hear their words, but their effect was unmistakable: it was an exchange between two people who were very much in love. She mused that Miss Woodhouse had outwardly taken the news of Mrs. Chesterfield designs on her true love rather in stride, but then again, she was a confident young lady, obviously secure in George's love for her, and with every reason to be so. Mrs. Winthrop had great hopes that they would announce their engagement today, as she was practically bursting with good wishes for them, but if they could not yet do so, she vowed to be content to wait until they were ready.

_The end._

###

Additional Notes: I think it's always nice to end with a "Hmm, yes," from Mr. Knightley! Emma, Mr. Woodhouse and Mr. Knightley can now return to Highbury and JA's story can pick up around the time Emma meets Harriet Smith. I think JA's story will still work, even if Mr. Knightley realizes his love for Emma earlier than in the book. (In my mind, this might make more sense of his statement to Mrs. Weston that he wished Emma to experience being in love and in doubt of its return. After all, in this story, he was experiencing unrequited love, himself.) Also, I think it is still possible for Emma to be clueless about her love for Mr. Knightley, even after their adventures in London. In her mind she did not want Mr. Knightley because she so intensely disliked Mrs. Chesterfield and because Hartfield would lose an old friend. Int he books and movies, even when Mrs. Weston later suggested that Mr. Knightley and Jane Fairfax should marry, Emma did not wake up to her love. In that case, Jane might have been worthy of Mr. Knightley, but Emma's excuse to herself was that her nephew Henry must inherit Donwell Abbey. With this story, when she does finally wake up to her feelings, she will have these great memories of their adventures in London!

An epilogue, which will tie up loose ends with Lord Byron and Aunt Catherine, is still to come.


	15. Epilogue

_**Epilogue**_

Note: This turned out to be a _lot_ longer than a true epilogue, so it's really a misnomer. It is in three unrelated parts that take place after "Emma's Excellent Adventures," but I've put them all into one long chapter.

#######################################

_**Epilogue – Part 1 of 3, About Four Months After Departing London –**_

_**A Wedding**_

Though the sun was shining brilliantly on this late January afternoon, it was cold and windy outside, an atmosphere unfit for even considering venturing from the house, according to Mr. Woodhouse, so he had bundled himself in front of the oppressively hot fire in his favorite parlor and was reading a book. Emma and her seemingly ever-present (according to Mr. Knightley) little friend, Harriet Smith, were busy working on their needlepoint projects. Mr. Knightley, who had joined the three of them an hour or so earlier, and for whom the cold weather provided no deterrent from visiting his friends at Hartfield, was reading the newspaper; occasionally he would read aloud or summarize a particular story that he thought would be of interest to Mr. Woodhouse.

"Now Emma, here is news that will surely interest _you_. It is about _Lord Byron_." He glanced at her sideways to judge her reaction, but as she did not look up from her sewing, she gave away no hint of what she was thinking. She had actually blushed at Mr. Knightley's words, though she did not want him to know it.

"Who is Lord Byron?" asked Harriet.

"Oh, he is just a poet," said Emma with feigned indifference, still not looking up. In reality, her interest was greatly piqued.

"A poet? Should I know who he is? Is he famous? Should I have read his poems?" Harriett inquired, in rapid succession, in her pretty little voice. Emma just smiled at her friend and shook her head, "No."

Mr. Woodhouse then asked, "Emma, why should a story about Lord Byron interest you?"

"It does not, Father. Mr. Knightley is mistaken. Lord Byron is of no consequence to _me_. We met him briefly once, when we were in London. That is all." She purposely avoided Mr. Knightley's keen gaze as she spoke.

"Well, in any event," Mr. Knightley said, "it says here that on the second of January, Lord Byron married Anne Isabella Milbanke at Seaham Hall. She is apparently an heiress, and no doubt provided a substantial dowry," he said.

"Ah, how nice for Lord Byron," said Emma casually. "I wish him a long and happy marriage."

"I doubt that it will be either," said Mr. Knightley dryly, and gave her a smirk.

"Really, Mr. Knightley, how unlike you to be so ungenerous." This time she looked directly at him, and it was Emma's turn to give him a smirk. He buried his head in the newspaper again. He tried to recall since when Emma had so easily been able to parlay his teasing of her into an evenly matched challenge. Clever girl, he thought. He couldn't decide whether to be rueful or impressed.

#######################################

_**Epilogue, Part 2 of 3 – About A Year After Departing London – The Letter**_

Emma and Mr. Knightley had been engaged for but a few weeks, and Mr. Woodhouse had tacitly given his consent to their marriage, although he had not yet acquiesced to their setting a date, unless "a year or two from now" could be considered "setting a date." The news of their engagement and of Mr. Knightley's impending removal to Hartfield had spread through Highbury and beyond, and had been met with almost universal approval (that is, with Mr. and Mrs. Elton apparently being the sole dissenters).

Mr. Knightley had taken to spending as much time at Hartfield as possible, mostly to be with his beloved Emma, but also to encourage Mr. Woodhouse to get used to the idea (and perhaps even recognize some advantages) of having him always about the house. On the days he was not meeting with William Larkins it was fast becoming his habit to arrive at Hartfield in time for breakfast and spend an hour or so there. He would then return in the late afternoon and stay for supper. Otherwise, he generally arrived in the early afternoon. Today, Mr. Knightley headed to Hartfield shortly after the noon hour, having just finished a review of his accounts and ledgers with Mr. Larkins. He brought with him certain correspondence that he had received from London that morning, and while he had misgivings about how Emma might react to some of its contents, it felt he must share it with her forthwith.

Mr. Knightley entered the parlor unannounced, as he had for years, and was glad to find Emma alone, writing a letter. Her eyes lit up and she smiled as he entered. He closed the door behind him and said, "Hello, Emma. How are you today, my love?"

She put down her quill. "Wonderful, now that _you_ are here," she laughed.

"Do you really expect me to believe that my mere arrival can cause your day to be wonderful?" he teased as he walked over to the desk at which she sat.

"Well, perhaps not your _mere_ arrival. Perhaps it will take something _more_ than that," she said coyly, looking up at him.

"More? Hmmm, how about this?" He leaned down and gently put one hand behind her head, bringing her lips towards his, and kissed her, first imparting small kisses that tempted her mouth, then teasing her lips apart with the tip of his tongue. When he finally ended the kiss, he kept his head inches from hers. Her eyes were still closed and she had a look on her face that he could only describe as "contentment." "Will that do?" he asked in a husky voice.

She opened her eyes and whispered, with a sigh, "Hmmm, yes. That will do nicely. Now you truly _have_ made my day wonderful." Her face was still flushed when she added, "I think I should to encourage Father to take more naps, so we can find more time to be alone together."

"Better yet, I think you should encourage your father to allow us to set our wedding day, and not too far in the future, either, so we can have more time to be alone together," he said mischievously, sinking into the chair next to the desk.

"Really, Mr. Knightley, how you make me blush sometimes."

"Perhaps if you could finally learn to call me _George_, speaking of such matters might come easier to you, dear Emma," he teased.

"I shall take that under advisement. No promises however, _George_," she laughed. She still found it difficult to use his Christian name – after all, he had been nothing but "Mr. Knightley" to her for all of her life – but at least she could make an effort. "Now, how was your morning? Do you think Mr. Larkins is getting used to the idea of your moving to Hartfield?"

"I believe so. As you know, I have assured him that we will continue to meet at Donwell our usual three mornings a week, and I will not allow my relocation to cause a lapse in any of my duties. He understands that we will not close up Donwell in any respect and that I hope that you will be able to spend time there every week, as well. He will just have to get used to the idea that he may have to come to me at Hartfield if he there is any matter that requires urgent attention. Not to worry. And so, how was _your_ day, before I arrived and it became wonderful, that is?"

"Mr. Knight … I mean, _George_, I may have to temper my praise of you, lest your vanity cause your head to inflate to such a degree that you will not be able to get through the doorway," she giggled. "Anyway, this morning I visited Mrs. Bates, Miss Bates and Miss Fairfax. The Campbells have returned from Ireland and are anxious to see Jane again, so she will be leaving Highbury soon. Poor Miss Bates is already missing her terribly."

"It was good of you to go to see them."

"Well, it was my duty, I know, but I am glad I did. It's sad, but now that Jane and I have settled on our futures, I feel that we might have become true friends. However, now it seems that there is not the time. Anyway, after visiting the Bateses, I visited Mr. and Mrs. Weston and baby Anna. It was a much more cheerful call. Anna Weston is such a pretty baby, and Mrs. Weston is so happy to dote on her. Mr. Weston dotes on Anna, too, but I must say he still seems almost afraid to hold her! It is quite comical to watch his nervousness with his own little daughter."

"Well, that's to be expected, I suppose. It's been a long time since he was around an infant, Emma. He just needs a little more time to get used to Anna, I think."

"Yes, not many unmarried men are as experienced with children as _you_ are," she laughed. "My sister and your brother have certainly seen to that!"

He covered her hand with his and said, "Well, I look forward to spending time with my – our – own children one day." She blushed again, so he decided it was time to change the subject. "Emma, I have brought a letter that I thought you would want to read."

"Of course! Who is it from?"

Mr. Knightley took a letter from his coat, but did not hand it to her. "You can see for yourself. Come," he said, "let's sit together on the sofa." They rose and moved to the sofa facing the unlit fireplace. He handed the letter to Emma as she sat down.

"This is rather mysterious, isn't it? Is everything alright?" she asked with concern as she took the letter from him.

"Just read it."

She did not recognize the writing on the outside, so she immediately looked at the signature and smiled. The signature read, "_With all my love and best wishes, Aunt Catherine_."

"Oh! It is from your aunt," Emma exclaimed. She was relieved, as Mr. Knightley had acted rather curiously about the letter, but any momentary worry she had had was now erased. "You wrote to her … about us?" Mr. Knightley nodded, "Yes." Emma couldn't help but smile as she began to read the letter aloud:

"_My Dearest Nephew,_

"_Felicitations! I offer my congratulations to you and my best wishes to Miss Woodhouse, though I hope that I may call her 'Emma' now, just as she must call me 'Aunt Catherine,' as she is soon to become my niece. I was absolutely delighted to read your letter. You and Emma make the most splendid match! But there is one account on which I must correct your assumptions forthwith. You wrote that you had news that would be of great surprise to me, but I must inform you that the only surprise was why it took you so long to …"_

Here, Emma gasped. She read aloud, _"...announce your engagement, as I had long expected …"_ and then continued to read, but only to herself.

"Good heavens!" she cried and looked up at him. "Your aunt thought that we … last year … when we were in London … But how can this be?" She returned her eyes to the letter and continued to read quickly, an anxious look on her face. She read snippets aloud, mumbling them under her breath: "…_it was obvious_…" and "…_the way you __looked__ at one another_…" and "…_the gown she wore_…" and "…_Almack's_…" and "…_Lady Rawlings_…"

"Oh, Mr. Knight… _George_! Why would she think such a thing? Were we acting inappropriately in some way? No, surely we were not! We were just acting as friends, as we always used to do." Emma voice trailed off, and she looked at him with dismay as she waved the letter in the air.

"Emma, my initial reaction was the same as yours, and I even wondered if it might be better not to share the letter with you at all. I thought about it the whole way from Donwell, if truth be told. But Aunt Catherine will surely say something to you at one time or another, so it's best that you learn her assumptions now." He stopped and looked at her. She was clearly upset. "Before I go on, Emma, let me say that you must not reproach yourself. We … _you_ … did _nothing_ wrong. I did not show you my aunt's letter to upset you. Come here," he said, and gently gathered her into his arms, as she had looked like she was about to cry. He kissed her forehead, and said softly, "Don't worry, Emma. As I said, I have thought about it, and I can attribute Aunt Catherine's views to two things. The first is that we have been friends, good friends, for such a long time. Remember at Almack's, when Lady Rawlings said that when she saw us with Henry and John in Regent's Park, she thought we were married? It was because we were so _comfortable_ with one another. We have long been able to tease each other and say what we like and even disagree with each other, but still be friends. I think that couples who are courting probably tiptoe around one another, each just saying what they think the other wants to hear, rather than what is really on their minds. _We've_ never been like that. We never _will_ be like that. Our family and our friends in Highbury are so used to seeing us together that _they_ would never have made any such assumption about us, but, I suppose, in London, people seeing us together just assumed, well, that we had a different sort of connection. It's not really such a bad thing, is it?" He looked down at her and smiled.

"Well, I suppose you are right. If I'm going to marry you now, I can't very well complain that people saw us as well-matched a year ago, now can I?" she laughed weakly. "It's just … discomforting … to think that we were the subject of such gossip… _Good heavens_! I just realized that last year when I overhead your aunt saying that she expected you to announce your engagement before you left London, she did not mean you and Mrs…." Emma could not bring herself to say it.

"That's right," he said. "She must have meant the two of us."

Emma blushed. "Oh, my word! And here I thought… What a fool I was! But thank goodness you did not say anything to your aunt! Can you imagine…." Fortunately, Emma started to laugh, and Mr. Knightley joined her. "I can't believe that I was such a silly goose. Lucky for us that things turned out as they did, don't you think?"

"I do, indeed, think that I am very lucky at the way things turned out, Emma," he laughed, and hugged her to him.

"Wait – you said there was a second thing you could attribute Aunt Catherine's view to. What is it?"

Mr. Knightley took a deep breath and said, "Well, I suppose I could just summarize by saying that I was in love with you when we were in London, Emma."

"Oh, _George_, that doesn't count. You've loved me forever, just like I've loved you forever."

"No. What I mean is that … I mean that I was _in_ love with you last year. As a man loves the woman he wants to marry. As I love you now."

Emma looked up at him with sheer astonishment; she could hardly even speak. "But … but you _never_ said or did anything to …." She was at a loss for more words.

"Of course not."

"But why not?"

"How could I, Emma? You did not feel the same way about me. Think about how you feel about me now, and how differently you felt back then." She looked down, embarrassed, and he knew that he was exactly right. "It's alright, though. I understand now, as I understood then. Back then, I was the same Mr. Knightley who had teased you and, in your mind, probably sometimes _tortured_ you, for years, trying in my own way to improve upon what was already perfect. You loved me as a brother, or an old friend. I had felt the same way about you for such a long time, but then somewhere along the way, I came to realize what an intelligent, charming, beautiful and kind young woman you had become, and I could not help but wish that somehow, someday, I could make you _mine_. I am sure that Aunt Catherine was right when she wrote that I could not keep my eyes off of you that night we went to Almack's, and I have to admit that it was _not_ solely attributable to the fact that I was your chaperone for the evening. You have always looked beautiful to me, long before I realized that I was in love with you. But that evening, I still remember so clearly, my feelings were … of a different sort, and very difficult for me to accept."

"But you did not even try to tell me!"

"No. I could not. What if you had rejected me?"

"But did you really think that I would have done so?"

"Mightn't you have? Emma, I have never been a man to take a gamble. You know that. It was not worth the risk. It still amazes me that I finally took a risk and admitted my feelings to you just weeks ago. Last year, though, it was enough for me that we could at least be friends, though I have to admit that playing the role of a mere friend was not always easy for me. My thoughts were decidedly not only the thoughts of a chaperone when I saw you with Lord Byron at the symphony."

Emma blushed. "Oh! But surely you knew that I would never have …"

"Of course I did. I never doubted that for a moment. I just did not like the way he looked at you. I was _ridiculous_ to have reacted that way, and I hated myself for it."

"Oh, you have never been ridiculous, Mr. … I mean, George. You know that. I am sorry that I put you through all of that. I suppose that I was so wrapped up in my own self … in all of the new things I was experiencing in London … that I never realized it." Suddenly Emma started to laugh and said "Oh! And you must have been _insanely_ jealous of Mr. Tuttle!"

Mr. Knightley laughed, too. "No, not Mr. Tuttle. Somehow I knew that you were safe from Mr. Tuttle's charms. As you said yourself, you could never live without a little cow or two! But the whole time we were in London, there I was, trying to be so gentlemanly and protective of you. I never realized that some people could see that I was wearing my heart on my sleeve," he said.

"Well, maybe it was just a coincidence that Aunt Catherine and Lady Rawlings saw something between us. Could that be possible?"

"Well, there was also the clerk at Easton's Haberdashery. Do you remember?"

"Oh yes. I had forgotten about that!" she replied.

"And there was at least one other person, Emma."

"Who?"

"Mrs. Chesterfield."

"_What_?" she exclaimed. "No! She told you this? _When_?"

"Well, yes, she did, after a fashion. That night at the Cavendish's soirée, when I finally managed to speak with her about her … intentions for me … she said that she knew I could never fall in love with her because it was obvious that I was in love with someone else. She did not say your name, but it was clear she meant you. She said she could tell when a man is in love, because of the way he looks at his lady every chance he gets, when he thinks she is not looking, and when he thinks no one else is looking. She said I was doing that, as I had _never_ done with her. And the only woman I have _ever_ looked at that way is _you_, Emma."

"This is still such a new revelation for me," Emma said. "It is almost too much to take in all at once. But even then, I thought that you had said it was Frank Churchill's arrival in Highbury that awakened you to your feelings about … me."

"It was, but that was after I had already vowed to set my feelings aside during our trip to London. As I said, I could not risk ruining our friendship; I was happy for us to carry on as we were. Think how awkward it would be for us otherwise, if you had rejected me, which I was sure you would do. I don't know if you recall, but at the Cavendish's, after Isabella told me about Mrs. Chesterfield and told you that Mr. Tuttle was looking for you, you said to me that it was distressing to have someone in love with you when you did not return the sentiment."

"Oh, _George_! Did I really say that? I am _so_ sorry! I meant Mr. Tuttle, surely not _you_."

"It doesn't matter now, Emma. You always said that you would not marry, and since I could never marry anyone but _you_, at least I would still have you in my life if we just went on as we were. That was my plan, anyway, until _Frank__Churchill_ showed up."

"But if you thought I was attracted to him, would you not tell me of your feelings, _even __then_?"

"_Especially_ not then, Emma. I told myself that if I loved you that much, then surely _your_ happiness was paramount, and I could not be so selfish as to interfere."

"Sometimes I wonder if a man can be _too_ much of a gentleman for his own good."

"Luckily for me, we did not have to find out, now did we?"

"Luckily for _both_ of us, you mean, George."

"I like hearing you call me that. I think it is becoming easier for you."

"You've always admonished me to practice. Practice makes perfect," she laughed.

"Yes, that is true, and there are _other_ things I think you should practice now," he said as he took her into his arms and kissed her.

Mindful that her father might come down at any moment, she broke away, though too soon for his tastes. "Well, I'd best finish Aunt Catherine's letter. There is but one more paragraph." She took a deep breath and began to read again to herself. "Oh! She plans to come for the wedding! That is wonderful! How happy we will all be to see her here. It has been _years_ since she has been to Donwell. Oh, and perhaps, after the wedding, when we are on our honeymoon," Emma blushed as she said that word, "she can stay at Hartfield with Father, Isabella and John. They can have gruel together every evening …"

"_At half past eight, sharp_!" they said together, in unison, and then they laughed, practically until tears fell from their eyes.

Then she leaned over and placed her head on his shoulder. "I am sorry that I made you wait so long for me. And I'm sorry that we haven't been able to set a wedding date."

"Don't you know, Emma, that I'll wait for you for as long as I have to? Till I'm old and gray, if need be, which will be quite soon at the rate we are going!"

"Don't worry, I will love you even when your hair turns gray," she giggled as she reached up and ran her fingers through the hair at his temple.

"Good thing, since no doubt _you_ will be the cause when it does."

"Ha! I'll make you _pay_ for that remark, _Mr. Knightley_!" she said as she wrapped her arms around his neck.

"Well, as magistrate, I decree that you should extract your punishment forthwith," he said as he brought his lips to hers.

#######################################

_Trivia_: Final bits of trivia for this story: First, it was reported that among Lord Byron's many affairs was a scandalous liaison with his half-sister, Augusta Byron Leigh, and that he fathered one of Mrs. Leigh's children. Reprehensible! Second, the "Lady Patronesses" at Almack's comprised the committee at the club that determined, among other things, who might attend Almack's balls. They were the considered the epitome of London's high society.

_**Epilogue, Part 3 of 3 – Honeymoon Indiscretions**_

Emma and Mr. Knightley decided to spend the last three nights of their honeymoon in London with Mrs. Winthrop at Manning House. Aunt Catherine had come to Donwell only two days before their wedding, and Emma and Isabella had been so consumed with the wedding plans that Emma felt she had not given the lady her due. A few days in London would also give them an opportunity to visit with the Prestons, the Cavandishes and other well-wishing friends, not to mention allow Emma to complete her trousseau.

Mr. Knightley was happy to advise Emma that the Prestons had once again secured vouchers for the four of them to attend the weekly ball at Almack's, but he was surprised at her apparent antipathy. "You do not seem particularly enthusiastic about Almack's, Emma, though last year you were keen to go. You do not wish to go again?"

Emma was mindful of Isabella's revelation last year that Almack's held no draw for Mr. Knightley and he had attended simply to "see to her happiness." She told herself that she must not be selfish now. "Oh yes, I would enjoy Almack's again, but what attraction does it hold for you? Though you have proved yourself to be an excellent dancer, you do not like to dance, and though you are a superb card player, you are not a gambler. I would not wish to go if there is any chance you might not be entertained."

"Emma, don't you realize that Almack's will have one attraction that I simply cannot resist? In fact, you will not be able to keep me away."

She raised her eyebrows and asked curiously, "What is that?"

"_You_, my darling." He grinned. He was actually looking forward to escorting his lovely young bride to Almack's, where London's best society could see his own treasure. He knew that being prideful was a sin, but he would repent later.

###

Mr. Knightley knocked on their bedroom door but did not wait for a response before entering and taking a few steps in. Emma was sitting at the dressing table, her maid carefully placing tiny pearls in her lovely coiffure. She was wearing a low-cut ball gown of shimmery sage green silk with a creamy silk undergown. Their eyes met as she looked at him, reflected in the mirror on the dressing table, and she said, "That'll be all, Sally. Thank you very much." Their eyes did not part until Sally had left the room. Emma rose and turned to him.

She smiled and gracefully held her hands out to her sides. "Well? What do you think?"

Her beauty was breathtaking, and he told her so. He walked over to her and said, "You look so beautiful, Emma. I can't believe that you are mine. I am so very, very lucky. I would like to change just one thing - your necklace."

"My locket? But it has your likeness now, in addition to my mother's. You do not like it?" She was disappointed.

"I like it very much. It's just that I thought perhaps you might wear this instead." He reached into his coat pocket, took out a blue velvet case and presented it to her. She looked at it and then at him, wide-eyed. "Go ahead, open it," he said.

Emma took the case and opened it slowly. She gasped when she saw the necklace: three rows of perfectly matched pearls, with an emerald broach surrounded by baguette-shaped diamonds. There were matching earrings.

"Oh my! They are so _beautiful_, George! You _shouldn't_ have!" Tears started to well in her eyes.

"What's this? Do I see tears? This was supposed to make you happy, Emma, not make you cry! And of course I should have. I've always been about scolding you and lecturing you. Perhaps it's about time that I spoiled you, just a little bit. I have to admit that it makes me very happy to do so."

She blinked her eyes a few times. "I _am_ happy. So happy that I could cry!" she laughed. "Thank you so much! I _love_ them! They are _exquisite_!"

"Here, turn around and let me put the necklace on for you." She did so, and he unclasped her locket, allowing it to fall into her hand, and then carefully fastened the necklace around her elegant neck. He bade her turn to the side so she could see herself in the full length mirror, with him standing, proud and tall, behind her. "How lovely you look. You will be the belle of Almack's again, Emma, even though you are _Mrs. Knightley_ now."

Smiling broadly, she turned around to face him, put her hands on his shoulders, stood on her tip toes and gave him a gentle kiss on the lips. Then she moved one hand to the back of his neck and softly whispered in his ear, "Thank you," just before she licked down outer edge of his ear and ended by nibbling on his earlobe while whispering, "Ummm." The shiver that went down his spine made him react instinctively, roughly drawing her length against him with one arm, then responding in a low, husky voice, "Let me warn you that if you do that again, we will not be going to Almack's this evening. In fact, we won't be leaving this bedroom."

She was surprised but pleased by the fervor of his response, and she responded by pushing away from him playfully and saying, "Then let me warn you that I fully intend to do that again … _later_." He laughed and marveled that in the span of less than a fortnight she had learned to quickly stoke his desire. But then again, he mused, Emma had always been a clever girl and a quick learner.

###

They sat next to one another in the carriage on the way to Almack's. It was unseasonably cold and damp that evening, so Mr. Knightley wore his topcoat and Emma had around her shoulders the warmest cloak she had brought. "It's very cold out tonight, Emma. I'm afraid it may be too cold to escort you to Almack's terrace and gardens. What do you think? Will you be disappointed?"

Emma laughed, "No, not too disappointed. What did you say about the maze last year? Something about cozy corners? Fortunately, since I've become Mrs. Knightley, we can always find a cozy corner somewhere, now can't we?"

She said a prayer of thanks for her good fortune in securing this man's love and devotion; she hoped that she would always deserve it. At that very moment he must have read her mind, because he picked up her hand at kissed it.

###

Emma was once again having a delightful time at Almack's. Mr. Knightley had already danced with her _three_ times, and she was quite certain that he had actually enjoyed himself. She had also danced with Mr. Preston and another gentleman whom her husband had known for years. She was happy to see that being a married woman did not mean she had to avoid the dance floor. At the moment, she was speaking with a small assemblage of married ladies, into whose friendly bosom she was warmly welcomed.

Across the room, Mr. Knightley was himself speaking with a group of gentlemen. Mr. Preston said to him, "You know, Knightley, it seems that you can't take your eyes off of your beautiful bride."

"You're right, Preston. It's silly of me to admire her from afar, isn't it? I think I'll go admire her up close. If you'll excuse me," he replied, with an iniquitous grin on his face. Though Mr. Preston laughed at his old friend, he had to admit that he'd never seen him happier. Mr. Preston watched Mr. Knightley approach the group of ladies and after exchanging a few words, he spoke to Emma and held his hand out to her. She smiled and took it, and then he led her to the dance floor. I'd never thought I'd see the day, Mr. Preston thought to himself, that George Knightley would willingly approach the dance floor.

###

A little later that evening, Mrs. Preston and Emma excused themselves from the supper table at which they sat with their husbands to powder their noses. On their return, they were intercepted by a gentleman who exclaimed, "Miss Emma Woodhouse. How lucky I am to see you again. You see, the fates have once again thrown us together. There must be _something_ to this coincidence."

Mrs. Preston raised her eyebrows and looked at Emma with a smirk. "Lord Byron," Emma said, nonchalantly, and gave a small curtsey. "I see that _you_ haven't changed. But I must tell you that _I_ have. I am Miss Woodhouse no longer. I am now Mrs. George Knightley. Now, please allow me to introduce you to my friend, Mrs. Gordon Preston."

After a few pleasantries had been exchanged between Mrs. Preston and Lord Byron, he said, "So, _Mrs_. Knightley, what brings you back to London? Did you decide you couldn't keep away from me any longer?"

"Really, Lord Byron, lucky for you that your poetry is superior to your humor. My husband and I are in London for just a few days, on the return from our honeymoon at the seaside."

"Your _honeymoon,_" he said, lasciviously. "Please accept my best wishes. I myself was married earlier this year."

"Oh, were you?" she said, hiding the fact that Mr. Knightley had alerted her to Lord Byron's wedding months ago. "Congratulations. Is Lady Byron here? Perhaps you might introduce Mrs. Preston and me."

"Oh, she's here somewhere. I managed to lose track of her some time ago. May I inquire if _Mr_. Knightley is the gentleman I met at the symphony last year?" Emma nodded, "Yes," and Lord Byron continued, "Well, he is a lucky man. Though I wonder that he had the patience to be engaged to you for such a long time. Over a year – a man could go mad at the prospect of waiting that long for the likes of _you_."

Annoyed by his impertinence, Emma said, "While it is none of your business, I will tell you that we were only engaged a few months. Last year Mr. Knightley was merely my chaperone. Nothing more. He might readily have played the part of my older brother."

"Ah, _filial_ love. There is nothing quite like it, now is there, Mrs. Knightley?"

Emma had heard from Isabella that Lord Byron was reputed to have had an affair with his own sister – well, his _half_ sister – and that she had born him a child. She was immediately repulsed. "_I_ wouldn't know about anything but the most _innocent_ filial love, Lord Byron, unlike _some_ people," she said, rather heatedly. Lord Byron laughed; he seemed to enjoy toying with her sensibilities.

Mrs. Preston laughed, too, and said, "Really, Lord Byron, it seems that your reputation is well-deserved."

"I'll take that as a compliment, Mrs. Preston," he said.

Still irritated, Emma said curtly, "Mrs. Preston, perhaps it is time that we returned to … more _civilized_ company."

"I'll be sorry to see you go, Mrs. Knightley," Lord Byron laughed. "I think you are even more beautiful when you are angry." As Emma and Mrs. Preston walked away from him, he laughingly called after her, "When will you return to London? The fates will see to it, you know."

"Mrs. Preston, what a perfectly _wicked_ man Lord Byron is. So indiscreet. Didn't you think so? Or did you interpret his wickedness as humor?"

"My dear Mrs. Knightley, please do not be shocked at my reaction. He was both wicked and humorous. The two can be combined, you know. You are young, and you see things through a different light. But one day you will change your mind and see that he was just having a bit of fun."

"Oh, I doubt that, Mrs. Preston. I doubt that very much."

###

A short time later, Mr. Knightley noticed Emma stifle a yawn. He asked, "Are you tired, Emma? We can leave whenever you wish."

"Actually, I am a little tired. It seems like we've been in a whirlwind of activity since we arrived in London. The pace is decidedly different here to the seaside, or Hartfield, for that matter. I would not mind going home, but I would not wish the Prestons to think we were not appreciative of their generosity in bringing us here."

"Don't worry about that, Emma. Mr. Preston will understand the reason for our early departure when I remind him that I am on my honeymoon."

"Oh, George, you _wouldn't_!"

"Indeed, I _would_," he grinned.

"You know, I think there is a decidedly wicked side to you, _Mr. Knightley_, of which I was unaware until we married."

"I hope you don't mind it, especially since _you_ are the sole cause of it, _Mrs. Knightley_."

"Actually, I don't mind it at all. It is a secret side of you that only I am entitled to know."

"… And enjoy," he added.

"Oh! Such cheek!" she laughed.

###

Mr. Knightley had gathered their coats and taken Emma to the front hall. It was still very crowded, as guests were still arriving; the doors had not even been closed yet, as Almack's always did at the direction of the Lady Patronesses. He then went to see about retrieving their carriage, but returned with disappointing news.

"I'm sorry, Emma, but since people are still arriving, the situation with the carriages is dismal. It may take another twenty minutes or so for our carriage to arrive."

"Oh dear! It's a pity we have to wait here, obviously looking like we are trying to escape. What would the Lady Patronesses say if they saw us? They might forbid us to return!" she said, only half in jest.

"Come with me," he said, and took her hand. There was a series of rooms of varying size along the front expanse of Almack's, which were used for small private receptions, as meeting rooms or for card parties. No doubt, from time to time some of them had been used for unmentionable assignations in the wee hours of the morning. Mr. Knightley walked to an open door and found a cozy room that was set up for playing cards, with a small fire burning in the fireplace. "We can wait here, if you'd like, or we can go back to the salon for twenty minutes or so until the carriage arrives. What do you think?"

Emma walked to the fireplace. "I am quite content here to stay for a few minutes. It is nice by the fire. Would you mind?"

Mr. Knightley quietly closed the door behind him and replied, "Not at all," and joined her in front of the fireplace.

###

The gentleman opened the door to the room and immediately saw the couple engaged in a passionate embrace. A _true_ gentleman would have immediately closed the door and left, but not this gentleman. He silently chuckled, as he found something wickedly enticing in being a voyeur. The couple was obviously enjoying themselves, and while he could only see the back of the gentleman's black topcoat as he leaned over the lady, his broad shoulders shielding her from view, as well as the lady's gloved hands as they caressed his neck and tousled the back of his hair, he could tell that the man's hands were inside the lady's cloak and whatever he was doing, combined with his kisses, was having a decidedly rewarding effect on the lady, as she uttered an occasional gasp or whimper. Grinning, the gentleman folded his arms, leaned against the doorway, and wondered who they were. He hoped they were married and _not_ to each other. A bit of scandal aimed at someone besides himself from time to time was always a welcome diversion. Just then his wife saw him standing in the doorway from down the hall. "There you are," she said pertly as she walked past him into the room. She took one look at the couple and exclaimed, "Oh! So sorry to disturb you!"

Mr. Knightley and Emma immediately broke away from one another and turned to look at the intruders. Three out of the four pairs of eyes instantly registered recognition. Emma was mortified, but Mr. Knightley, who did not seem embarrassed in the least, calmly said, "Please forgive us for our indiscretion. It was badly done. You see, we are on our honeymoon, which I realize is not an excuse for such a lack of decorum, but it was entirely my fault, and I shall endeavor to be more discreet. We'll leave you now. Shall we, my beloved?" Emma nodded, but she was still too embarrassed to say anything, nor did she meet the eyes of either the lady or the gentleman as she hurried through the doorway. Mr. Knightley, with a half smile on his face, looked every bit like the cat that had swallowed the canary.

After the couple had gone, Lady Byron said to her husband, plaintively, "We've been married since January, and you've _never_ kissed _me_ like that."

"No, I don't suppose I have," replied Lord Byron in a distracted tone, his throat having suddenly gone dry, as he watched the couple return down the hall towards Almack's front entry. "I suppose I've never thought of it." But he supposed he would be thinking of _Mrs. Knightley_ for some time to come.

_The end._

_###_

_**Final Note: Thanks for taking the time to read this story, and special thanks to all of who reviewed any of the chapters or added this story to their alerts or favorites. I very much appreciate it!**_


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